


A Lesson in Trust

by meshkol (ashernorton)



Series: Two Pieces Made Whole [3]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (a significant amount of cuddling), (for now) - Freeform, (yet), Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Asphyxiation, BDSM, BDSM negotiation, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Bondage, Breathplay, Choking, Come Shot, Consensual Kink, Consensual Violence, Contracts, D&H, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominant Tony Stark, Face Slapping, Forced Nudity, Gags, Gloves, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kneeling, Light CBT, M/M, Mild Painplay, No Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Platonic BDSM, Praise Kink, Proper BDSM Etiquette, Prostate Massage, Restraints, Riding Crops, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Submission, Stephen Strange-centric, Subspace, degradation and humiliation, following orders, phallic gags, submissive Stephen Strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28002969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashernorton/pseuds/meshkol
Summary: Stephen knows what he wants – wants Tony andmore– but there's so much at stake. The external factors alone are enough to make him wary of asking him out for dinner, but the idea of possibly driving away one of his closest friends and a supremely talented Dominant simply because Stephen's developed feelings is more than daunting. The last thing he wants to do is make Tony terminate their agreement if he doesn't return Stephen's affections, and that is certainly a possibility.What hecando, however, is see what Tony would be like if Stephen was sound of mind going into a scene, and that's precisely what he's going to do.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Series: Two Pieces Made Whole [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1098702
Comments: 22
Kudos: 138





	A Lesson in Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mokiwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokiwrites/gifts).



> Here be the third instalment of my [Two Piece Made Whole](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1098702) series!
> 
> This fic has been beta'd into coherence and is also dedicated (as per usual) to [Moki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokiwrites/profile); in addition, there was a significant amount of assistance given by moki regarding how this scene was going to go, so thank you very much darling. Love you enormously, and lots of hugs from this exhausted mess of a human.
> 
> Please mind the tags and enjoy this fic!

_One_

Three months, fourteen days, and approximately six hours, and he’s not even close to cracking.

It’s unexpected because the need is there, sure, swirling in the back of his head like it always is and growing stronger by the day, but his head is still his own and he’s certainly in control. Edging is the last thing on his mind because while the need is increasing in his hindbrain, he has other things he’s focussed on. It’s not even work, exactly – though there’s an element of that just based on how overworked he is, of course – but instead one thing and one thing only. One _person_ , really.

He’s ultimately torn when it comes to Tony Stark and how he wants to approach this...thing that’s welled up in his entire being over the past three months (and honestly, he thinks it might actually be _years_ , if one includes the five years he’d been dust on Titan, but he hadn’t allowed himself to consider the possibility due to a plethora of reasons before they’d fallen into their current arrangement). And _fuck_ , is it welled up – he’s dissected it and weighed the pros and cons, overthought it and torn every minuscule thought apart until he came to a coherent answer as to what he’s definitively feeling, and he’s utterly convinced that he’s pretty much gone for that indescribable man. That hadn’t taken longer than a few days to suss out after he’d left the Avengers compound – without fucking going into sub-drop, and he’s still blown away by that – so he’s pretty resolute that he wants Tony, in more ways than the close friendship they’ve developed recently and the platonic agreement they have on the other side. It’s _how_ he wants to approach him, that’s the real question, and he just isn’t sure how to best proceed.

He supposes that he should muster his courage and just ask Tony out for a coffee, the same thing he’d done when he’d found himself interested in Christine despite her gender. He doubts that Tony would turn down the offer, even though he doesn’t spend large amounts of time outside of SI or Avengers’ facilities because of the sheer pandemonium that results when he’s around civilians, but he’s not sure if Tony would even read it as a potential date but instead just a general coffee outing with a friend and occasional co-worker, not to mention he’s not sure how he would react to finding out that Stephen’s _asking him out_. God, Stephen despises this part of dating, always thought it awkward when people around him were dancing around potential love interests, and he’s definitely wary of opening himself up to possible rejection just like he’d been when he’d done the same dance with Christine, the only person he’s ever actually been in a relationship with instead of just a casual fuck.

He knows that he’s compatible with Tony, not just with their dynamics in private but in personality and disposition as well, and he knows Tony’s bisexual, so it’s not like it’s out of the realm of possibility for Tony to develop mutual feelings for Stephen, even if he may not be as hopelessly in love with Stephen like Stephen is with _him_. That takes time and he’s willing to wait, taking it slow and building up something strong.

The problem is that Tony comes with a lot of...external factors.

He’s one of the leaders of the Avengers now that Rogers is old and Danvers is frequently not on planet, and he’s also the major shareholder for SI as well as the number two major player of the overall company after his ex-wife, while Stephen himself is the Sorcerer Supreme, which means that they’re frequently not in the same _dimension_ , let alone on the same planet. Stephen doesn’t know if Tony would even be receptive to the possibility of being constantly out of contact or not always with his partner if he was in a true, bona fide relationship, especially since his relationship with Pepper had been...well, those two have been pretty much living on top of each other since the day Pepper Potts became Tony’s PA going on twenty years ago, and even now they are still attached at the hip despite the divorce when they have time to spare. With Stephen, though, Tony wouldn’t have that luxury, and while Stephen knows that it’s ultimately up to Tony to determine whether he’d be capable of being in a relationship with someone who’s frequently gone on potentially fatal missions for the sake of humanity, Stephen can’t help but be wary of the rejection, especially considering their current arrangement. The last thing he wants is Tony pulling back from that out of concern or discomfort from Stephen wanting _more_ , because Stephen would probably lose his damn mind if he lost the best Dom he’s ever had because he overstepped his bounds.

Mostly though, Stephen’s worried about Morgan Stark, and rightfully so.

“It’s not easy to be in a relationship with a single parent,” Christine tells him during one of their infrequent lunches in between her shifts and his galaxy hopping, holed up in the Sanctum after Stephen had portalled over to his old workplace to snag her. He’d had to tell _someone_ about his current pash on Tony Stark and Christine is still his best friend, so naturally she’s the best choice. Mercifully it isn’t awkward in the slightest, and she also has the added bonus of knowing about his submissive side, as it was...obviously something they’d had to talk about before getting into a relationship with each other. She knows him better than anyone on the planet, so obviously he’s going to use her as a sounding board.

Around a mouthful of vegetables, she continues, “I mean, think about it. If Tony – wow, I still can’t believe we’re talking about _Tony Stark_ here in relation to _you_ , no offence – anyway, if Tony gets into a relationship with anyone, you or whoever else, he _has_ to factor in his daughter because she’ll always come before everyone else if he’s a good dad. For starters, if you two get into a relationship and his kid ends up not warming up to you despite everyone’s best efforts, that would be brutal, and he’d break both his own heart _and_ yours because he’d have to leave you for her. And then there’s always the possibility of her loving the absolute crap out of you and vice versa, but then you and Tony breaking up for some reason or another. What are all of you going to do in that situation? You love the kid, and the kid loves you, but you’re not with her dad anymore and what does that mean? Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty obvious that Tony’s on good terms with his ex-wife, so it’s always a possibility that you’d break up on good enough terms yourself that you’d still be able to be a part of her life, but it’s still really complicated and _definitely_ awkward.”

Stephen frowns and says, “Though it would admittedly be awkward, I don’t think Tony is capable of being vindictive when it comes to his daughter being close to someone he’d fallen out with, if it made her happy and the individual in question wasn’t utterly evil.”

“Well you’re certainly not evil, contrary to what some of your patients thought when you were practising medicine,” Christine jokes.

“I had a perfectly agreeable bedside manner when doing therapeutic monitoring,” Stephen drawls, even though he knows that’s only half-true.

Predictably, Christine rolls her eyes before shooting him a pointed glance, but doesn’t bother to call him out on it. Then she sighs and wraps a hand around Stephen’s wrist, getting back on point: “Look, if I was him, I’d be terrified of inviting someone into my life and around my kid, and it would take me _forever_ to be comfortable with letting my kid interact with a boyfriend. Like, I’m talking at least a few months of dating and probably even longer before I’d let my kid anywhere near someone. So you have to be prepared for that possibility, Stephen, that he might keep his two lives very, very separate for a long time, and I know you. You are _not_ a patient man.” Before Stephen can interject that he’s learnt patience, thank you _very_ fucking much, she continues, “But there’s also the possibility that if he agrees to date you, he might immediately throw you in a room with his kid so see how she reacts before he ever lets himself get invested, and kids are finicky as hell. It could take his daughter forever to warm up to you, and again, you’d have to be patient and spend a lot of time trying to win her over.”

She pauses, then smiles. “At least in your favour, you can literally do magic tricks and generally go over well with kids because for some reason they seem to like assholes like you, so I think you’ll be fine. In any case, just keep that in mind, but I think you should go for it. It’s not like he’s not hard on the eyes after all. You really think you have a chance with the man who pretty much single-handedly saved the literal universe from destruction?”

Part of Stephen wants to tell her that yeah, probably, because Tony’s seen him naked and pulled him off until Stephen was spilling spunk all over his fingers and he’s even kissed and _cuddled_ the man, but yeah. No. _No_. If Tony’s not telling Pepper and Rhodes about their agreement then Stephen’s sure as hell not telling Christine. Instead, he says non-committedly, “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, he’ll be able to get you in a way I never could, especially with all the superhero mumbo jumbo you’re all tied up in now,” she admits, and then suddenly grins very wickedly, leaning forward with an eyebrow wiggle. “ _Also_ , if it’s any consolation, I distinctly remember being in med school when his first sex tape dropped. I’m pretty sure that he had that girl tied up and was giving her a spanking before screwing her into the mattress. Maybe he’d be willing to do the same to you, so you might not even need a Dom on the side anymore.”

“ _Oh my God_ ,” Stephen chokes out in total mortification, and Christine cackles with mischievous glee.

—

Ultimately, he never really follows through on asking Tony out for coffee.

He gets close on occasion, when he does have the time to drop by for official business and isn’t forced to send Wong in his place, but he’s too wary of both being rejected and ruining their arrangement, mostly because Tony doesn’t treat him any differently than any of his other close friends. He thinks it’d probably be easier to make a move if Tony gave him the slightest inclination that he was attracted to Stephen outside of their platonic arrangement, but Tony hasn’t so Stephen doesn’t.

And outside of that, he also isn’t edging, but he also wants to approach Tony for play despite of it.

That is...even more alien to him than _actually_ _meeting aliens_ through his forays in space and time. He’s gone his entire life stiff-arming and rebelling against his primal desires, only indulging when he’s actively in the middle of a mental breakdown, and the fact that he actually wants to approach Tony outside of a breakdown is both bizarre and slightly uncomfortable from an abstract standpoint. He figures it has more to do with his trust and feelings towards Tony than anything else, because he’s never felt powerful in those weak moments and therefore has never wanted to mix depraved necessity with general day-to-day pleasure – now, though, he _wants_ to go to Tony to play without being out of his mind from a breakdown, wants to see how different it is when he’s sound of mind going into it, and that’s something very strange for him to compartmentalise, even though Tony had given Stephen blanket permission to come to him whenever he wanted. Hell, he’d even encouraged it, and rather vehemently actually, on multiple occasions.

It’s just—Tony makes him feel powerful when they’re playing, in a way that he’s never felt before during a scene, and he also craves the buoyant serenity he’d felt for damn near two weeks after their last time together. He’s also curious as to what it would feel like if he was clear-headed from the beginning, wonders if he’d go into sub-drop because their last scene was a cosmic abnormality, but mostly, Stephen just _wants_ him. It’s odd and nerve-wracking and he’s not entirely sure what to think about it, but it doesn’t change the fact that he wants to do it, wants Tony to play with his body and his reactions until they’re both high from it. God knows it does wonders for Stephen’s mood and Tony’s no different; he’d practically been walking on air for a good two weeks himself after the last time they played, and there’s something deeply satisfying about knowing that _Stephen_ was responsible for that.

Surprisingly, asking Tony out for coffee is somehow more daunting than approaching Tony for a scene, so he does that instead, four months exactly after the last time.

* * *

_Two_

After some digging to make sure nothing big is looming, Stephen portals into Tony’s workshop.

It’s a wall of noise when he enters, banging and clanging and screeching that’s not muffled by the blaring music, and Stephen looks around curiously, intrigued despite himself. The massive fabricators and 3D printers are working along the entire west wall, loud and churning, and there’s an aircraft hauled up on pulleys in the open portion of his workshop, one of the Avengers’ quinjets if he’s not mistaken. Half of Tony’s body is hanging out of it, booted feet solidly flat on an independent lift system so he’s not dangling from the guts of an engine, and judging by the sparks and smoke, not to mention the distinctive scent of scorching metal, he’s welding something.

He knows that Tony’s aware he’s here, Extremis patching him into the security systems of the compound with barely a thought, and sure enough the loud music silences as soon as the portal closes behind him. The loud crackle of welding continues though, probably because he has to finish up, but soon enough that stops just a few minutes later as well, the sparks and curls of smoke fading. There’s a clang, probably a torch being dropped, and then Tony’s lower half wiggles and turns before he’s crouching down, showing Stephen his entire body. Not that it’s much to look at – he’s covered in protective clothing so it’s nothing but heavy brown fabric covering every millimetre of skin and a welding mask, which he quickly pushes up, face lined with pink indentations from the seals.

“Hey,” Tony says with a smile, but his eyes are sharp and searching as they trail over Stephen’s body, obviously trying to get a read on Stephen’s headspace. He’s not going to find anything because Stephen’s pretty centred still, but Stephen soaks up the attention anyway as he wiggles his damaged fingers in a lazy greeting.

Eventually, Tony frowns and says, “You look alright. Did something happen? Am I needed somewhere?”

 _In my bed_ , he thinks, but he swallows the words down and asks instead, “You busy?”

Tony cocks his head, squinting at Stephen shrewdly, and eventually says, “You’re here for...”

“Yes,” Stephen answers simply, crossing his arms.

“Even though you’re not...”

“Clearly,” Stephen drawls.

Tony pauses, eyeing him all over, and then asks slowly, “You sure?”

“Would I be here if I wasn’t?” Stephen shoots back, rolling his eyes.

“Huh,” Tony says, obviously surprised by that fact even though Stephen can see the pure relief on his face that either can’t or doesn’t bother to hide. That’s to be expected he supposes, considering he’d offered to play even when Stephen wasn’t out of his mind and then offhandedly repeated that offer no less than six different times after their last scene, still undoubtedly spooked from how Stephen had arrived in his workshop. Stephen’s not entirely sure if this will be a regular thing because he needs to see how this goes first, but he wants to see, needs to _know_.

He wants this to go well, and he’s fairly certain it will because he trusts Tony to keep him steady.

“Well that’s nice,” Tony says casually, but it’s belied by the fact that he’s grinning, brown eyes bright as he starts working the levers on his lift to descend. “How long d’you have?”

Stephen replies, “We don’t have anything pressing to address, just the usual research while monitoring threats. If that changes, I’ve directed Wong to send a message to the Avengers, which you’ll have access to through Extremis almost instantly I’m sure. So, if you wouldn’t mind monitoring that, I would be greatly appreciative.”

Tony steps off the lift but doesn’t move any closer, his grin turning wicked as he stares at Stephen without blinking. “Obviously,” he says, voice deep and pointed in a clear demand, “but that doesn’t answer my question.”

Stephen swallows, heart pounding, and says, “I’d prefer nothing longer than three days, including any recovery, but am amendable to anything longer as there’s nothing pressing.”

Tony’s eyes flash as his entire body shifts somehow, posture going straight and tall while the air between them crackles with unseen energy, his entire body coiling and dangerous and powerful, and Tony – no, _Anthony_ , there’s no denying this is Anthony now, like he’d flipped a switch and _changed_ – murmurs just loud enough to be heard over the fabrication unit, “Oh, that’s more than enough time to play with you. Now get over here.”

Almost like his own internal switch is flipped, Stephen’s vision tunnels and his body goes hot underneath his casual clothes, prick already fattening up as he stumbles forward almost ungracefully. Dear fuck, it’s obscene how fast Anthony can push him down even slightly, how fast Anthony can make every thought and external factor dissipate into something for later, every iota of his focus instead on the here-and-now. He relishes in the utter silence of his overworked and strained brain, everything else floating away to hidden corners of his mind as he focusses solely on the man in front of him, and even the usual whisper of _you need to keep control and not let him see you like this_ is utterly extinguished for the first time in his life, a realisation that sends a shiver of awe down his spine.

He halts in front of Anthony, locking his arms behind his back and tucking his chin immediately to show his subservience, and tries to breathe as evenly as he can possibly manage, which is a tall order. There doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the air and he’s intensely aware of the sound of his own breathing, shaky and loud, which is brightly mortifying even though he wants Anthony to know how much he’s affected. Fuck, but Anthony hasn’t even _touched_ him and yet it’s still so vivid. It’s unbelievable how good Anthony is at this and fuck, Stephen’s in love with this man, strong and solid and so fucking beautiful even in his heavy work clothes.

“What’re your safewords, baby?” Anthony asks, low and insistent.

Stephen croaks out through a tight throat and a full-body shiver, “‘Nebraska’ to stop, ‘aspen’ to slow down, ‘latex’ for a break, ‘green’ for good.”

Anthony hums with approval, then leans forward, smelling like sweat and burning metal and leather, so heady and thick that Stephen’s eyelids flutter closed as he inhales deeply. The tip of Anthony’s nose brushes the shell of Stephen’s ear as he murmurs, “Remember those for me, okay? I get to take my time with you for once and I’m going to make every second count, so just remember those for me, and I trust you to use them if you need to.”

“Yes, Anthony,” he breathes, and then moans when Anthony bites at the shell of his ear, harsh and painful, nearly making him jerk away from the pain instinctively even as his body goes taut with pleasure.

“Good,” he almost purrs, nearly a rumble in his chest, and then continues, “Go to the desk where we first played.” Stephen stumbles that way immediately, still with his chin lowered and arms tightly clenched behind his back, as Anthony continues, “Top shelf on the left. Put your collar on and come back to me. Chop-chop pet, I’m waiting.”

He hazily follows the instructions, blood throbbing in his head and prick, and the sight of the collar – matte grey metal that’s deceptively silky ( _vibranium, nanite tech_ ), beautiful and thick, inlaid with vivid blue veins of light from the miniaturised reactor powering it, and _all his_ – makes his entire body shudder with need. He nearly drops it even as he picks it up, managing to keep his shaking fingers on the cool metal so he can slip it over his head. It immediately tightens, cutting off his air for a split second of pure bliss before it’s relaxing just enough for him to feel it without being restricted of oxygen, and he moans again, savouring the feel of cool metal warming from his body heat and digging into his vulnerable throat.

He quickly heads back to Anthony, desperately wanting to look up so he can see what expressions are flickering on his handsome face, wanting to know if the sight of Stephen wearing Anthony’s collar makes him shiver. He can’t tell from the clothes, the oil-splattered fabric too thick and shapeless to see if Anthony’s growing hard from this, and he wants to _see_ , wants to rip off those layers to drink in the sight of Anthony’s prick. He still doesn’t even know what it looks like and his mouth positively waters for a glance, just a single fucking glance, though he wants to ask for even more than that.

Anthony hums again, clearly pleased, and then says, “Come on then.” Stephen follows him through the workshop and personal corridors eagerly, occasionally stumbling when the collar tightens around his neck, and nearly runs into him when they halt in front of the newly familiar door of the playroom, closed if his peripheral vision is to be trusted. Makes sense, considering Anthony’s positively filthy, covered in oil and metal shavings and sweat, and he wonders if Anthony will demand him to kneel in the playroom while he cleans up and redresses. God, he hopes not, even though it’s only practical, but he trusts Anthony to do what he thinks is best for both of them.

Then Anthony turns around, ordering roughly, “Undress me,” and Stephen’s entire world narrows down to nothing but overwhelming pleasure and a flickering thought of _oh thank God he’s letting me look_ before he’s reaching forward, desperate to drink in his first sight of Anthony’s naked body.

Mercifully, Anthony doesn’t command him to slow down, but Stephen’s still ashamed at how obvious his excitement is, tearing at Anthony’s clothes like he’s starving for skin and completely inelegant in his haste. He doesn’t trust himself to take his time, though – with every bit of damp, oil-streaked skin Stephen unwraps from those heavy layers, his mouth floods with more saliva, wanting to stroke and taste, and he wasn’t given permission to worship Anthony’s body with his tongue so it’s best to rush through it, if only to quell the temptation. The doctor in him is content with that at least, because while he likes his men clean _and_ dirty, tonguing at Anthony’s metal- and oil-coated skin is not wise, even for a masochist like Stephen.

He drops to his knees once Anthony’s bare from the waist up, dragging his fingers down strong legs, and moans in the back of his tight throat when Anthony exhales shakily at the sight. Stephen unlaces the heavy boots, his own fingers uncoordinated and sloppy, but he manages it, and thankfully Anthony steps away slightly, balancing from one leg to the other as he pulls them off, hooking his stained fingers into the socks as well. Then he’s stepping close again, close enough that Stephen could bury his face in his groin if he was brave enough, and Stephen gets to work with shaking hands, yanking at the belt with hurried movements and undoing the button and flies of his trousers so he can pull the fabric down at once, making sure he catches the waistband of his undergarments as well because he _needs to see_.

And _oh_.

Holy _fuck_.

He barely registers Anthony’s trousers falling to the ground nor him kicking them away, eyes on the organ in front of him with single-minded focus. It’s fucking gorgeous if he’s honest (though Stephen’s more than aware of the fact that he’s biased, not just because it’s _Anthony’s_ but also because he just really enjoys pricks), thick and heavy and half-hard, and somewhat surprisingly he’s uncut. He vaguely wonders if that’s due to Extremis, when the vast majority of his body had to be healed and even regrown after he’d used the gauntlet, and the regrowth had included his foreskin as medically speaking it could be considered an excision or even an amputation. In any case, it’s a gorgeous prick, surrounded by neatly maintained hair and heavy testicles, and Stephen’s mouth waters despite the fact that it’s been over two decades since he’s honestly wanted to get his mouth on an erection during a scene.

“Should I twirl?” Anthony drawls sardonically, though without any real heat, and Stephen opens his mouth to emphatically say _no_ , hands reaching without thought so he can touch the damp foreskin around the glans because he wants to touch and feel and memorise this first before he explores the no-doubt _gorgeous_ arse on his Dom with equal attention. That has admittedly been a body part he’s wanted to get his hands on since he was in med school, back when he first saw _CEO Tony Stark_ on the cover of _People_ , and he definitely wants to explore that fine muscle group at the earliest opportunity.

He doesn’t get the chance to actually vocalise his answer though, because Anthony’s hands dart out fast as lightning and grab his wrists before Stephen can touch, clicking his tongue in displeasure. “I don’t think so,” Anthony chides in a sing-song, bringing Stephen’s hands together so he can grip his wrists in one hand while using the other to grab a handful of Stephen’s hair and brutally yank his head back, Stephen’s scalp burning from the rough treatment. Stephen’s eyes water from it but he hazily forces himself to focus on Anthony’s face, flushing at the disapproving expression on his handsome face. He suddenly feels both ashamed – he’d said that he didn’t want to touch Anthony like that during their initial negotiation and they haven’t renegotiated that even though Stephen deeply wants to touch Anthony right now, courtesy of his newly accepted feelings and the large amount of trust between them – and soothed – because Stephen can _see_ the desire in Anthony’s face and knows that Anthony likes sexual pleasure combined with his Domination, and yet he’s denying himself that because he respects Stephen’s (prior) limits.

Part of Stephen wants to say _latex_ but he bites his tongue nevertheless. Anthony ( _Tony_ ) had said that they could renegotiate at any time, but in the middle of a scene is not advisable for Stephen – he’s somewhat down already, despite the fact that they practically haven’t even done anything, and he knows from personal experience that if he pulls away now, he’ll probably end up having an anxiety attack because of the jarring removal from the mindspace. No, it’s best to keep to the mutually agreed rules and renegotiate after, and he doesn’t care how fucking humiliating and nerve-wracking it will be. He can’t imagine a single possibility where Anthony would deny them both this, if Stephen’s sure (and _fuck_ , is he sure) and it’s consensual, so he needs to get his shit together and just _ask_.

“Hey, you still with me Stephen?” he hears Anthony ask distantly, and Stephen blinks rapidly, trying to pull himself out of his thoughts and back into the present. Anthony’s staring at him patiently, the fingers of his left hand stroking through Stephen’s hair soothingly, and Stephen blinks at him some more, acutely aware that he’s suddenly not in the mindspace whatsoever and somehow not panicking about that fact. That’s...strange, if he’s honest, because he _always_ panics when he falls out of it so suddenly, and he vaguely wonders if that’s because he’d gone into this scene clear-headed and if it’d be different if he was in a breakdown. He supposes it doesn’t matter though, because this is now, and it’s not like Anthony has any trouble bringing him down with barely any effort. Anthony will take care of him, keep him steady, bring him down and make them both feel good.

God, he’s in love with this man, and it should be alarming how _unalarmed_ he feels about that, considering that he’s in the middle of a scene and has nothing but bad memories.

“Yes, Anthony,” he breathes out, and fights the urge to surge to his feet so he can press his lips against his Dom’s, instead allowing himself to easily fall back into the dizzying, floating arousal when Anthony makes him repeat his safewords – saying _latex_ doesn’t even cross his mind this time, because they can have that conversation during debrief and enjoy themselves right now – and then hooks a finger into Stephen’s collar, pulling Stephen up in a brief flash of glorious constriction around his neck.

When he’s on his feet, shaking and flushed, Anthony stares at him and asks, “Where you at, baby?”

“Green,” he answers immediately, gaze blurry except for the sight of the beautiful man in front of him.

“Okay,” Anthony says, his lips quirking for a moment before his expression goes impassive. “Now, I need to shower, so I’m going to give you a choice, okay? Either way, I won’t be upset, and no matter what you choose, you can always change your mind or safeword whenever you need to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Anthony,” he says again, but his fuzzy mind is a constant repeat of _please let me touch you_.

“Good boy,” Anthony croons, caressing his cheek with a thumb. “Now, here are your choices. The first is that you can kneel in the centre of the playroom and wait for me to clean up in my personal shower, since that’s where my stuff is. The second is that I can grab everything I need and bring it into the playroom itself so you can do that for me, within reason. It’s up to you pet, and like I said, no matter what you choose, I’ll be happy with it.”

The rational part of Stephen’s mind wants to say _if I don’t get my hands all over you sooner rather than later I’m going to burst an aneurysm and also fuck your ‘within reason’ because if I don’t get to touch your dick at least once I’ll probably just die instead_ , but he swallows down the words and says very clearly, “Go get your things.”

Anthony eyes him for a long, long moment, reading him, but he’s not going to find any trepidation or wariness because dear fuck, does Stephen want this. Still, Anthony asks, “You sure?”

If Stephen wasn’t skimming his headspace, he’d probably say something snappish about hating to repeat himself; he is skimming though, and instead he just feels a curl of warmth in his stomach, even though Anthony’s obsessive double-checking is unwarranted. He doesn’t really blame him for doing it either, because as preternatural as he is about reading Stephen like a book they still have rules in place, and it’s comforting to see that his limits (that he really needs to renegotiate the second this concludes) are being respected.

“Please,” he says quietly.

Anthony doesn’t hesitate any longer, giving him a warm smile and stroking his cheek one last time before he wraps a strong hand around his neck, right above the collar. A surge of arousal makes his knees shake, a tiny groan vibrating in his throat even though Anthony’s barely touching him, and he feels his half-hard prick twitch in the confines of his clothing. “Alright then,” Anthony murmurs, eyes dark and piercing. “Get undressed and then kneel for me, baby.”

He squeezes once, a light pressure that makes Stephen moan thickly, then drops his hand – Stephen hears himself whine in the back of his throat at the loss – and steps off to one of the closed doors in the corner, disappearing behind it without looking back once. Stephen hurries towards the playroom door himself, opening it with shaking hands and all but tearing off his own clothing in a haste though he makes a monumental effort to neatly fold them, placing them on the small table for personal items by the door. The second he’s naked, he’s lurching towards the centre of the playroom, so very close to the saltire from before ( _oh he loves that thing already_ ), falling to his knees and locking his arms in position.

It feels like he kneels there for a year, even though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, before he hears Anthony close the playroom door behind himself, shutting them both inside. Stephen doesn’t stop staring at the matted floor, tracing the swirls of the faux-hardwood with his eyes to keep himself sufficiently distracted else he’s liable to try and peek. He’s hyperaware of every sound Anthony makes – the soft footfalls on the foam floor, the opening of that familiar shower door in the corner, the absent humming of something under Anthony’s breath, the quiet noise of bottles being manoeuvred and towels hung, the sudden fall of water on tile as the showerheads are turned on – and he sinks even lower, almost in a daze as he waits impatiently for the order. His mouth is watering, forcing him to swallow constantly to keep from drooling, and his fingers itch with need, his entire body shivering at the thought of getting his hands all over Anthony’s body.

“Come here, Stephen,” Anthony finally demands, quiet but strong. Stephen moves, but before he can get to his feet, Anthony adds with a teasing lilt to his voice, “Oh no, pet, you can crawl or stay right there while I clean myself.”

_Oh God, yes._

The collar tightens again, forcing him to suck in air through a tight throat, and with every bit of distance he crawls, his prick stiffens even further, swinging heavily between his thighs. Even though he wants to take his time, give Anthony a show by moving his body languidly, he’s too impatient, more interested in getting his hands all over Anthony’s body as he makes sure every single millimetre is clean. Fucking _hell_ but he wants it, and it’s nearly impossible to keep his hands to himself when he finally halts in front of Anthony, already in the shower cubicle and soaking wet even though he’s standing out of the direct spray now.

The water is hot as he lifts himself back up to the proper position, a shock despite his overheated body, and he gasps through his mouth, eyes blinking past water because he doesn’t want to stop looking. He’s aware that he’s staring at Anthony’s prick again, visibly hardening right in front of him, but he can’t force himself to look at the tiles like he should be, not having the permission to look up. Mercifully, Anthony doesn’t chide him, hands burying themselves into Stephen’s wet hair and stroking his scalp with rough fingers, and Anthony says quietly, “God, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful for me.”

A rush of heat and pleasure and Stephen moans in the back of throat at the praise, even as the little voice in the back of his head thinks _how strange, usually praise doesn’t do it for me_. He almost wants to be surprised but that’s something he can think about later, because all he cares about is what’s right in front of him. Even without looking up to see every bit of Anthony, wet and strong and gorgeous all over, he’s still lightheaded that he’s going to be allowed to do this ( _within reason_ , he recalls, and feels a twinge of disappointment).

Anthony hooks a finger into Stephen’s already-tight collar and pulls him up, Stephen’s eyelids fluttering closed as his eyes roll back into his skull with pleasure. He miraculously doesn’t fall on the slick tiles, Anthony’s spare hand grasping his bicep to keep him steady, and once he’s upright, the pressure on his neck eases, Anthony’s finger moving until he’s got a wet, calloused palm wrapped around his neck again.

“Get to work, pet,” Anthony murmurs, and Stephen scrambles to obey, eyes snapping open as he dazedly searches out supplies.

Unfortunately, he finds them on the shelf next to two flannels, which he supposes that he should’ve expected. He’d been feverishly imagining washing Anthony with his hands, not unlike he had washed himself the last time he was in here, but it makes sense that there’s be a disparity. The last thing Stephen had needed after a wax was to use something that would abrade his skin even further, especially since Anthony had flogged him after, but this is a different situation entirely. He already knows he’s going to have to work to get off all the oil and grease from Anthony’s skin, and in order to get him perfectly clean he’s going to have to scrub.

Then again, Anthony’s got metal shavings on him too, and that doesn’t seem very safe to Stephen.

Stephen hesitates for a split second, hands outstretched for the materials, and then turns back to Anthony, saying slowly, “Should I rinse you first?”

Something flickers across Anthony’s face, too quickly for Stephen to decipher, but he says evenly, “Already done, babe, as well as my hair and face. That’s my job, not yours.” Stephen’s confused for a moment even as his hands absently reach back for the bathroom supplies, wondering if Anthony’s just trying to avoid skin-to-skin touching entirely, but then the answer pops into his mind as he drips soap onto the cloth and he feels like an idiot. Of course, the touching thing might be a part of it, but he remembers Anthony ( _Tony_ ) emphasising that water torture made him want to ‘ _jump off a building without my suit_ ’ and right, okay, that should’ve been obvious.

Still, now he’s nervous, hesitating again, and Anthony asks quietly, “Where you at?”

 _Green_ is at the tip of his tongue because he’s practically salivating at the order to clean his Dom, but he hears himself ask in a cautious tone instead, “What are your safewords?”

Anthony’s head cocks to the side, blinking at him with surprise that slowly morphs into something that can only be described as _oh shit_. Then he hums and lifts his hand to lightly run the backs of his fingernails along Stephen’s arm, a shivery feeling that makes every hair on his body seemingly stand on-end despite the wet humidity of the shower. “Well,” he says lowly, though it’s still clearly audible over the sound of the showerheads, “I suppose that’s fair. Stupid of me. My safeword is ‘safeword’ or simply ‘red’, and the rest of them are the standard spiel too: yellow, blue, and green.”

That’s...odd. He’s aware that a lot of people still use the stoplight method in play but he never would’ve imagined Anthony would use them, and he’s never heard of someone’s safeword literally being ‘safeword’. “Really?” he asks, even though should just accept it and move on, but he really is curious and can’t help but ask.

Anthony shrugs, a wry smile quirking his lips. “Using ‘safeword’ as my safeword and the tired old colour method that everyone knows is pretty cut-and-dry if you hear it during a scene, and my lawyers are particularly fond of cut-and-dry evidence in court.”

Oh. Well. That...makes sense, and has the added bonus of being horrifying.

When it’s clear that Stephen doesn’t have anything to say to that, Anthony asks again, “Where you at?”

Again, he wants to say _green_ but he has to ask, “You’ll say yours if you need to, won’t you?”

Anthony smiles, bright yet soft, and says with earnest approval in his voice, “Of course. Thank you for asking, Stephen.” Stephen can’t fight the pleased grin that twists his lips, though he can’t help but lower his chin in an instinctive attempt to hide it, and Anthony hums in the back of his throat, his other hand lifting Stephen’s chin with two calloused fingers, his eyes piercing as he just _looks_ at Stephen. Then he orders with a hint of amusement, “Now answer my question.”

This time, Stephen doesn’t want or need to hesitate: “Green.”

“That’s nice,” Anthony croons, so close that it would only take a single step to plaster himself against that wet and deliciously naked body and _God_ does Stephen want to, and then Anthony smiles, sharp and all teeth. “Now get to fucking work, pet.”

Stephen’s half-forgotten prick, only slightly hard now, twitches between his legs, and he rushes to obey.

He rubs the flannel with itself to get a nice lather, adding more soap until he’s satisfied, and then starts at Anthony’s neck. He debates for a second and then decides to hell with it – he trusts Anthony to let him know if he’s uncomfortable, so he lays his hand on Anthony’s strong, corded shoulder, gently at first to stabilise himself and then adding more pressure when Anthony just _watches_ him, eyes dark and half-lidded. Stephen takes it slow, watching as oil and grime disappears under his ministrations, and tries to breathe through the swirl of awareness and satisfaction in his body. It’s very satisfying, getting his Dom clean, and there’s a very vibrant intimacy with this sort of action that he’s never experienced before. It’s so thick he can almost taste it in the humid air, deep and intense and almost cloying, and everything narrows down to this, only this, like the rest of the world has faded away into white noise.

Anthony’s neck is replaced by his strong arms, first his left and then his right. Stephen’s other hand trails down, feeling the smooth dampness of skin and the coarse brush of hair against his fingertips, and he makes sure every atom of skin is given equal attention as he washes and scrubs and caresses, endlessly fascinated by how easily Anthony lets him work, so trusting and calm, Stephen captivated as he watches Anthony’s skin break out in gooseflesh despite the heat of the water.

More soap, then he moves to that powerful chest, illuminated with blue light and heavy scars, going soft around the reactor before moving away with harder strokes. There isn’t any dirt or oil here but Stephen pays it the same attention, riveted by the sharp inhales and sighs as he brushes the flannel over dark nipples, along sensitive ribs, down a strong stomach; his free hand follows, grasping Anthony’s waist for purchase and relishing in the hum of pleasure that Anthony doesn’t bother or simply can’t hide.

As soon as the flannel dips below his naval, Anthony hums again and slowly turns until he’s facing away, and _oh God_ , he can’t help but lick his lips before exhaling shakily because fuck he’s gorgeous this way too, all strong and compact muscle on his lean frame, his arse firm and downright _edible_. He follows the silent order, dragging the flannel as slowly as he thinks he can get away with, taking his time he touches and strokes in a farce of cleaning, more interested in watching those wet muscles move and touching-touching- _touching_.

Again, as soon as the flannel dips below the waist, right above the swell of his arse, Anthony hums once more and says in a hoarse rumble, “On your knees, darling.”

 _Jesus fuck_ , but he sounds like sex, and Stephen can’t help but groan in the back of his throat, very suddenly aware that he’s almost painfully hard.

Not only does being on his knees make the arousal ramp higher because he’s kneeling for his Dom, but it also puts him nearly eye-level to this frankly glorious arse, and he bites his bottom lip hard enough to taste a hint of blood to keep himself from leaning forward and...fuck, he wants to touch and lick and suck and _bite_ , wants to leave a mark, and that’s both not something that he’d be allowed to do in a scene unless he was ordered to as well as completely against the rules anyway. Still, he definitely wants it, and even though he gets to work on Anthony’s strong legs, his other hand braced on the opposite leg and relishing the feel of warm skin against his palms, he fantasises about getting his mouth on it, unable to stop _staring_.

Actually...

Stephen has a brief flash of _what if_ , and lets his fuzzy, aroused mind ponder it. Stephen’s predisposed to fight going down, but he hasn’t...actually _done that_ with Anthony except once, instead going down with relative ease, which is really out of the norm. It’s a stark contrast to Dorian (and all the _others_ he’s been with but that’s completely irrelevant), when he’d snapped and argued and pulled away and tried everything to keep control even though he’d known Dorian was simply trying to help. In any case, Stephen’s always been the type of submissive that needs to be forced down, rather than someone who was happy and eager to do it, so he doesn’t have any personal experience with different ones like purists or brats or sammies or a mixture of the dozens of types he knows about. He’s seen all sorts in dungeons and private parties back in the day, and Dorian’s wife had been very enthusiastic in play, being a 24/7 slave, but he’s never been one to partake in that sort of self-exploration, just desperate to _get it out_ until he could return to a ‘normal’ life.

But right now, staring at that delicious display of thick, glorious muscle, he _wonders_.

For all the negotiation they did, they hadn’t really talked about what types of submission Anthony was interested in or adamantly not okay with – other than the Daddy/little dynamic being a no-go, at least – and he’s curious about what would happen if he just...teased a bit. Not anything that would make either of them safeword or would go against the limits, of course, but _within reason_ , just like Anthony had said when Stephen had tried to touch Anthony’s prick. He wonders what Anthony would do if he leaned a bit more into it, maybe even fought a bit on _purpose_. Anthony hasn’t really even seen Stephen fight except that brief flare-up during their last scene, when he’d bucked hard against Anthony’s order to talk about everything going on in his life, because all Stephen’s done is fall into Anthony’s Domination without a complaint and show his belly as soon as Anthony so much as twitches in his direction. Anthony had handled him beautifully during that brief flare of power wrangling, and he’s deeply curious to see how far he can push Anthony before he snaps.

Well, he supposes their safewords are there for a reason, and the dynamic is all about pushing buttons in an SSC manner anyway – besides, perhaps he might get disciplined for it and that is an intoxicating idea, Stephen’s prick throbbing at the very thought of it.

Stephen bites his bottom lip again and goes for it, heart pounding with adrenaline and excitement.

He leans closer, ostensibly to start working the flannel up Anthony’s right thigh towards his groin but really just wanting an excuse to just _barely_ press his upper chest against the swell of Anthony’s arse in the process, as if it is a simple accident. To his absolute delight, Anthony actually rises to the balls of his feet with a choked sound that might be a groan, making his arse drag up Stephen’s chest until he undoubtedly feels the rough scrape of Stephen’s goatee, and Stephen takes the opportunity to smile widely, fully aware that Anthony can probably feel it against his skin.

Almost as soon as it happens, Anthony’s arching away a bit, trying to get a measure of distance between their bodies, but Stephen puts pressure on the flannel, attempting to hold him into place as his other hand clenches on Anthony’s left thigh. He hears Anthony cough – though to Stephen’s ears it sounds like he’s covering up a moan – and then ask very pointedly, “What _are_ you doing?”

“Washing you, Anthony,” he says as innocently as he can manage.

“More like being a little shit,” Anthony mutters, but the warmth in his voice is more prevalent than any true displeasure. There’s a long moment where Anthony stands there, tense and waiting as Stephen methodically keeps working his way up Anthony’s right leg, and just as the back of Stephen’s hand just _barely_ brushes the rigid line of Anthony’s prick, Anthony grabs his wrist to keep him from moving any higher and says in a rough tone, “You’re cutting it real close, pet.”

Stephen feels himself smile again, and this time he doesn’t bother to stop himself from pressing his body directly against Anthony’s entire flank, letting his smile stretch along the smooth skin of Anthony’s lower back.

There’s another rush of pleasure when he feels Anthony shiver all over against him, and Anthony’s prick twitches against the back of Stephen’s hand, for a glorious moment pressing against his skin in a line of pure heat. Still, Anthony quickly grabs it, shivering again from the pleasure even as he pulls it away from Stephen, and rasps, “ _Really_ close, Stephen. Are you trying to push my buttons?”

 _Yes_ , he thinks, even though it’s mostly because he’s enjoying feeling and touching and _teasing_ , and he wonders what it would feel like if Anthony turned in Stephen’s grasp, his prick slapping against his face before Anthony fed it into his mouth, fucking his way down Stephen’s throat like a claim. Stephen’s entire body shudders, his own prick throbbing with need, and he almost – _almost_ – twists his hips so his erection can slide against Anthony’s strong legs instead of jutting in between them, untouched and desperate for friction. Instead, he runs his left hand along Tony’s outer thigh, scratching lightly at the dark hair in a farce of continuing to follow Anthony’s order to clean, and says along the smooth skin against his lips, “Am I not pleasing you, Anthony?”

Fuck, but Anthony _moans_ , choked and thin, his left arm visibly working as he pulls at his erection a few times like he’s incapable of quelling the impulse, and he gasps out, “You’re a fucking menace, you know that?”

But then Anthony’s pulling away entirely, ignoring Stephen’s whine as he tries to keep him close with clutching hands, and he turns around, face flushed and eyes so dark they’re almost black. The look of pure hunger in his gaze knocks the breath clean out of Stephen, and he can’t help but look at the almost painful-looking erection Anthony’s holding in a tight grip, a vivid display of how affected he is. Stephen’s brain goes foggy, vision tunnelling and saliva pooling in his mouth, and he can’t help but bite his lip again around another thick, rumbling groan, teeth digging into flesh hard enough to sting.

He can feel Anthony’s eyes on him like a physical touch, hear his panting breaths despite water falling around them, see the twitch of his hard prick and the rhythmic tense of his balls behind thin skin. Then he deliberately aims his prick at Stephen’s face, fingers pulling the foreskin back until the glistening head is pointed right at him, slit filled with fluid until it methodically drips to the tiles, mixing with water until it’s draining away ( _and oh that’s such a waste_ ). Stephen’s mouth falls open so he can suck in humid air, and watches without blinking as Anthony very, _very_ slowly begins working his fingers up and down, pulling his foreskin over the head in a slick glide before slipping it back, so fucking gorgeous that Stephen blindly reaches for his own prick, delirious with the need to touch himself.

Anthony slaps him with his free hand.

It’s not hard, more of a surprise sting than anything, but it’s utterly degrading and Stephen moans loud enough for the sound to echo, hands stalling midway to his erection even though it’s physically painful to not touch himself. Anthony groans above him, sounding pleased and aroused all at once as he watches Stephen obey the silent order, then rasps harshly, “That’s _mine,_ ” and oh _fuck_ Stephen’s close, balls tight against his body as they contract and prick throbbing between his thighs. He barely manages to keep himself upright and untouched, body shaking so hard that he’s vaguely afraid that he might vibrate out of his skin.

Anthony drags his fingers down his erection once more, methodical and slow, and then hisses out through his teeth, “Where you at, baby?”

Stephen sobs out “ _Green_ ” so fast and desperately it’s a slur of sound, barely understandable and completely wrecked.

Anthony hums with pleasure, slipping the foreskin around the head of his prick languidly, and then orders roughly, “Get back to work, pet.”

Stephen does, his entire body shaking and vision blurry from a hazy need. He tries not to linger but he can’t quite help it, constantly distracted as he watches Anthony fondle himself almost lazily. He’s punished with more slaps when his hands still, every one of them light but so debasing until the humiliation is curling in every atom of his body, which just leads to him getting distracted again. It’s a vicious circle, and he can hear himself crying, deep and wretched sounds of pure arousal and frustration because he’s fucking _blind_ with the need to touch himself, the edge so close but unable to get there without friction against his throbbing prick.

But he manages, and he even gets the opportunity to grip and wash that magnificent arse as it flexes, sobbing out a frantic moan when Anthony jerks with a groan of his own, finally starting to fist himself with purpose as Stephen drags the flannel across his hole. Raw sounds of pleasure are swirling in the air between them as Anthony jerks himself off, the head still pointed directly at Stephen’s face and so close he could suck the head in his mouth if he moved forward just a millimetre, and Stephen can’t make himself _not_ move his arms from around Anthony’s hips, dragging his hands – one bare and one still somehow holding onto the flannel – up Anthony’s thighs.

He presses his left palm along the crease of Anthony’s groin and leg and begins massaging Anthony’s testicles with the flannel in the other hand.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Anthony whispers, hips jerking wildly, and then croaks out in almost a whine, “Where you at, baby?”

“Green, Anthony, it’s okay, I want this, _please_ ,” he breathes, honest and unblinking as he watches Anthony pull at himself roughly, licking his lips in anticipation as he pulls and strokes Anthony’s balls.

Anthony shudders, the fingers from his empty hand flying to Stephen’s hair and tangling in the soaked strands. He yanks Stephen’s head back almost brutally, and Stephen groans with a mixture of desire and misery because he wants to _watch_ Anthony come all over him, wants to see his prick throb and shoot out spunk in thick streams of white, but the idea of being denied this by a rough hand is delicious too because Anthony knows what he needs, Anthony will take care of him, Anthony will, and he just looks at his beautiful Dom with watering eyes, begging him silently to mark him up, take his pleasure from Stephen’s submission, and _fuck_ he thinks he could drop entirely from this, an unfathomable concept to Stephen’s scattered brain because of the lack of pain.

“Christ, how you look at me,” Anthony whispers, eyes black with arousal, and Stephen shivers when Anthony’s body tightens, arching over Stephen as he rises to the balls of his feet again, left hand almost a blur over his erection. The damp head brushes Stephen’s sharp cheekbone, a slick glide with the water and pre-come, and then Anthony’s convulsing around a sharp cry, the first pulse of spunk spurting out of his slit against Stephen’s cheek, hot and dripping and _claiming_. Stephen’s eyes flutter closed around a thick, delirious moan, his hips pushing into air as he desperately searches for friction, and as he pulls at Anthony’s balls with the flannel, his other hand blindly surges to Anthony’s prick, wrapping his hand around Tony’s grip and groaning again as he pulls in tandem, helping his Dom milk every spurt of come out of his spasming balls onto Stephen’s own skin.

Anthony trembles, sobbing out a moan that sounds utterly tortured, and his fingers jerk beneath Stephen’s like he has an instinctive urge to pull away. Instead he just chooses to ride it, thank _fuck_ , letting Stephen do this wonderful service for the man he loves, _God_ he loves him, loves him so much that everything goes soft around the edges, quiet and easy, not quite subspace but something very similar, sort of like the way his body feels like an echo of reality in the astral plane. It’s very soothing yet hypersensitive – he can still register every weakening pulse of come that hits his face, feel the sensation of Anthony’s hand beneath his own and the throbbing prick in between fingers, hear every whispered “ _mine-mine-mine_ ” that Anthony breathes out between gasps of air, but everything else seems far away and submerged. He can’t feel the water at his back or the ache of his knees, can’t feel Anthony’s fingers in his hair or even his own previously overwhelming arousal; he simply cannot catalogue anything else that’s happening around him unless it’s base and primal, his entire focus on experiencing Anthony’s pleasure second-hand. There’s a vague knowledge that there’s come dripping into his mouth as gravity works but he can’t taste it on his tongue, and the texture that normally bothers him doesn’t even compute as he absently licks at it, some ember of unease not allowing him to waste it.

When Anthony is spent, their hands unmoving on his prick, almost all of the other stimuli go away too. He registers nothing except the sated, flushed glow on his Dom’s face, Stephen blinking slowly as he drinks in the sight, and floats with full-body pleasure when Anthony takes care of him, not aware of being gently cleaned of come and sweat all over. He’s not even aware when Anthony says something other than absently registering that his lips are moving with words that Stephen can’t really hear before Anthony’s smiling, a soft and amused and strangely knowing quirk of his lips.

He’s led out of the shower then jerks with more unease when Anthony begins to dry himself, moving forward and all but snatching the towel away so he can do it instead. He meticulously gets to work, eyes flicking towards Anthony’s face constantly to make sure that Anthony’s still happy with his submission, and there’s so much warmth in his body from Anthony’s constant smile that his fingers are tingling with it, clumsy and awkward. Still, he’s thorough, pleased when Anthony allows him to dry everything without making him stop, and then slumps with easy satisfaction when he’s finished, watching Anthony as he dries Stephen with another towel, slow and patient despite his uncooperative limbs. He’s distantly aware that he shudders with pleasure when Anthony dries his still-hard prick but it’s an absent thing, irrelevant and far away from the expression on Anthony’s face, calm and still smiling.

Anthony’s eyes are half-lidded yet bright when he wordlessly hands Stephen a bundle of clothes, and Stephen’s all fumbling action instantly, happily dressing Anthony with shaking fingers and a rush of contentment. He doesn’t linger or tease, this time covering all of that warm olive skin perfunctorily to please his sated Dom, and before long Anthony’s dressed again, this time in soft, threadbare joggers and a thin shirt.

He’s pulled by the collar to the other corner of the room, barely registering his aching prick or the normally overwhelming arousal that comes from being choked out, and simply drinks in Anthony’s easy movements with blurry vision, content with Anthony’s confident manoeuvring of his body. He doesn’t react when he feels his wrists being buckled together in front of his body with cool metal and leather, doesn’t react when his ankles are buckled together in the same way and then get weighed down with something cold, doesn’t react when he’s manipulated to Anthony’s will, completely at ease and trusting Anthony’s judgement. He does react when Anthony lies down on the sectional and beckons him down, though it’s difficult to move his limbs far because oh, that’s what had happened, he was being chained to the floor by his ankles, loose enough that he won’t lose sensation in his feet but strong and restrictive enough that he’s trapped in a one-metre radius, and he has no ability to balance himself because his wrists are bound together with a thin metal chain as well.

Stephen shudders violently and all but collapses on Anthony, ankles together and making it awkward and uncomfortable to spread his legs, which is so lovely. He buries his face into Anthony’s shirt, inhaling deeply the scent of his soap – that _Stephen_ had washed him with, serving and teasing – and detergent, and does his best to meld to Anthony’s compact body, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside of his skin and never be free of him, safe-safe-safe.

He’s still unbearably hard, wedged against Anthony’s strong thigh, but he hasn’t a thought to rut against the muscle and bone for friction, simply deflating against Anthony’s body and closing his eyes around a moan of pleasure he can’t hear but can feel vibrating in his throat. If Anthony wants him to come, he’ll direct him to do it, and until then he can suffer through the arousal, relishing Anthony’s control over every iota of him.

Stephen drifts to the vague feeling of fingers running through his hair and along his spine, and falls asleep to flitting dreams of pleasure and contentment.

—

When he wakes, the first thing he registers is that he’s still down.

Not too far, and certainly nowhere close to the near-subspace feeling that he’d experienced after Anthony had come all over him (he shudders slightly with a sigh at the memory of that), but it’s definitely there, swirling along his sleep-heavy thoughts like a comforting weight. Everything external is fuzzy and indistinct but he still registers it – the distant hum of the HVAC system, soft music in a language Stephen doesn’t immediately recognise, the dim light behind his closed eyelids, the contrasting feeling of a hot body against his front and cool air at his back – in combination with how his own body feels, which had been far beyond him before. He’d been so consumed by _only_ Anthony that it’s almost jarring to catalogue that he’s boneless against Anthony’s body, that his legs are aching from being spread in a wide diamond around Anthony’s waist while his ankles are chained together, that his arms are wedged between his body and Anthony’s, that his back is slightly twisted so he can press his face against Anthony’s neck, that his prick and balls are now pressed against the ridge of muscle above Anthony’s own groin.

Sleepily, he rocks his hips once into the body beneath him, enjoying the rush of pleasure that makes his prick twitch, and then settles back down with a sigh of contentment, face nuzzling into Anthony’s neck for a long moment before he realises that _oh, right, that’s probably off-limits_.

It wakes him up, pulling him out of the daze of easy submission just a bit, but he doesn’t freeze or panic. No point to that, really, since he feels so comfortable despite his aching limbs and the ember of _oops_ in the back of his head, but he does make a half-hearted attempt to turn his face away from Anthony’s neck and stop digging his fingers into the warm shirt Anthony’s wearing as he mumbles in a sleep-rough slur, “Sorry Anthony.”

Anthony’s chest vibrates as he laughs, a soft rumble of sound, and he notices that Anthony’s running the backs of his fingernails against Stephen’s slightly arched spine, a toe-curling sensation that makes him shiver. “You still down?” he asks quietly, his words ruffling Stephen’s hair, and Stephen hums out an affirmative even as his slow brain tries to process that bizarre fact. He’s never woken up still fuzzy with the headspace of submission before, sleep always hitting the reset switch on his control even if he hadn’t reached subspace before passing out, and that had been rough for Dorian during their scenes because he’d had to start over completely. It’s nice, actually, quiet and floaty, and he absently wonders how long he’s been out. Probably not long, though his hair feels dry, because he’s so comfortable despite his aching limbs that he could probably fall back asleep easily if he deigned to do so.

“That’s nice, pet,” Anthony murmurs, and Stephen sighs with pleasure when he feels Anthony press a kiss against the crown of his head. “Where you at?” he asks next, fingernails trailing up Stephen’s spine until they’re tracing the line of his collar, and Stephen shivers again, bare prick throbbing against Anthony’s skin. It almost hurts, like he’d stayed hard throughout sleep (even though medically speaking that’s almost impossible without something being wrong) and has strained something, and he enjoys the sensation, the almost-pain delightful in combination with his sore hips, legs, and arms.

“Green,” he answers, muffled and slurred, and can’t fight the urge to bury his face back into Anthony’s neck, almost purring at the feeling of warm skin against his lips. He kind of wants to mouth at it but he also doesn’t want to break the moment, sure that Anthony will pull away if he does, so he just nuzzles with another sigh of contentment, flattening his palms against Anthony’s chest and counting his heartbeats while relaxes in Anthony’s arms.

Stephen vaguely drifts again, half tempted to just fall asleep but unfortunately becoming more aware of his body’s needs, mostly the ache in his limbs and the throbbing insistence of his neglected prick but not entirely. His empty stomach feels right on the edge of growling with hunger, not quite there yet but threatening, and his mouth is sour with sleep. He wonders for a split-second if Anthony even has spare toothbrushes for him to snag but then immediately disregards the thought because that’s a ridiculous question, isn’t it? His Dom has various sets of pyjama bottoms for him with different magical fantasy characters on them – of course he has a fucking toothbrush for Stephen to use.

He huffs out loud against Anthony’s neck, half with annoyance at his own stupid thoughts and half with amusement at said thoughts crossing his fuzzy mind in the first place, and then fights the urge to squirm when Anthony laughs louder underneath him, a full-body vibration that makes Stephen’s prick ache and drip more pre-come. It takes every gram of mental strength to keep himself from rutting against Anthony’s lower stomach until he spurts come all over him, though that sounds like an alluring idea, honestly. He wonders if he should just give into the urge, give his erection a bit of friction before Anthony inevitably chides him for the action because again, they have safewords, and it’s not like the possibility of discipline is a downside in the slightest – hell, it’s practically _incentive_. Nevertheless, he keeps himself carefully still, unwilling to be removed from this calm existence until absolutely necessary even though it’s so out of Stephen’s norm during a scene that he’d be confused and alarmed if he wasn’t so at ease.

 _Fuck I really do love this man_ , he thinks, and can’t stop the smile that quirks his lips.

So he drifts, humming as Anthony continues stroking his spine instead of the collar, going lower and lower and _lower_ until Stephen simply can’t drift anymore, every bit of his floating comfort quickly snapping into intense focus. Those strong, calloused fingers trace his L1 to L5 vertebrae over and over again before inching down even further with every stroke, sliding between Stephen’s cheeks in minute increments, and _oh_ , oh _God_ , just a little bit farther, just a little bit _lower_ , he wants—

Suddenly Stephen is utterly incapable of keeping still, gasping hotly against Anthony’s throat and digging his fingers into his chest while he rolls his hips, body ringing with pleasure as he grinds his rigid prick into Anthony’s lower abdomen and then arches back into the dry press of a finger against his hole.

Anthony grabs his hip though, bodily holding him in place, and says in a rumble, “Don’t move, baby.” Stephen groans thickly, eyes squeezing shut as his body throbs painfully at the order, but he grits his teeth and obeys, tears prickling behind his eyes because fuck he’s so goddamn hard it’s agonising. Anthony stills his finger too, a pressure that is utterly maddening and not nearly enough, and then rasps, “Where yo—”

“ _Green_ ,” Stephen damn near sobs, trembling and painfully aroused, and he feels Anthony exhale shakily, not bothering to scold him for the interruption as he begins massaging the sensitive skin, not forcing his way in ( _fuck he wants him to force his way in, wants it even though it’ll hurt_ ) but pressing with the pad of his finger, his right hand leaving Stephen’s hip to drag his palm along Stephen’s left thigh. It’s exceedingly difficult to keep his body from rutting against Anthony like a bitch in heat but he manages just barely, tears dripping down his nose and temple as he struggles to follow the order, not wanting to disappoint Anthony.

Anthony hums as Stephen shivers, unable to quell that involuntary reaction, and murmurs roughly, “You’re doing so good for me baby, nice and obedient. I think that deserves a reward, don’t you think?”

Stephen whines, air like smoke in his lungs as his brain goes foggy, dropping low and heavy with heady pleasure. He wants to mouth and bite at Anthony’s neck, wants to fight on purpose just to make Anthony lose control, but the delirious satisfaction of being _good_ is too overwhelming to disregard. He whimpers as Anthony’s fingers move down towards his testicles, and then locks himself down as brutally as he can when two fingers dig into his perineum to keep from bucking wildly. He forgets himself for a second, teeth latching onto Tony’s damp neck to muffle the cry of pleasure, but he _doesn’t move_ despite the fact that it’s almost impossible to keep himself still. He hears Anthony hiss in what sounds like pleasure when Stephen bites down, and he gets another deep push against his prostate, making Stephen sob out a moan.

The fingers ease to a gentle massage, and Stephen can’t stop gasping for oxygen as pleasure races along his entire body, not just focussed on his prick but full-body and overwhelming due to the external prostate stimulation. Underneath him, Anthony’s breathing heavily, shaking just as hard as Stephen is, and fuck, but he wants to slip down just a little until he’s spread lewdly on Anthony’s prick instead of his waist, wants to grind down until they’re both desperate for it, wants to make Anthony snap until he can’t stop himself from pulling down his soft joggers and stuffing his prick inside Stephen, fucking into him hard and brutal and messy until he’s filling Stephen’s body with come. He just wants Anthony inside of him _now_ , wants to feel every inch of him against his sensitive insides until he can’t remember his own name, wants to feel Anthony own him inside and out.

He opens his mouth to beg for it, letting go of the mouthful of flesh as he inhales, but then Anthony says in a rough, dark tone that makes Stephen shiver with anticipation, “Get up, pet.”

Stephen lets out a sound of pure frustration and disappointment against Anthony’s neck, both at the interruption and the order itself, but he doesn’t disobey in the slightest, carefully manoeuvring his stiff, uncooperative limbs until he can work his way upright without falling on Anthony’s body or tripping over the chain that’s tying him to the floor. Anthony does push himself upright to help, steadying Stephen’s shaky, naked body until he’s somewhat stable on his feet, and that doesn’t really help with the arousal because he’s chained to the floor and standing in between Anthony’s spread thighs, his prick jutting out from his body and so goddamn close to Anthony’s mouth that he nearly loses his already wobbly ability to stay upright. Still, he stays perfectly still despite the feverish urge to twist his hips until the head of his prick is brushing across that sculped facial hair, and Anthony smiles at the grimace that’s no doubt stretching across Stephen’s lips.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, dragging his rough palms over Stephen’s flank, back and forth and _fuck_ Stephen needs Anthony to touch him, needs those strong hands on him where he needs it most. “Staying nice and still for me, aren’t you?” he continues, voice deep and rough, and Stephen groans, vision going blurry as he drops even further from the acknowledgement of his submission, that he’s _good_. God, he wonders if Anthony could push him into full subspace with only his words and rough caresses, no pain at all except blinding arousal, and even though the last corner of sanity in his medically-trained brain knows that it’s impossible to do that, it still feels strangely attainable and isn’t that a surprising thought?

“I’m going to play with you some more, Stephen,” Anthony says, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his hips and dragging down to his thighs, and Stephen _groans_ , thick and guttural. He continues softly, his _voice_ sounding like sex, “You gonna be good for me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stephen chokes out, then involuntarily arches with a mixture of pain and pleasure when Anthony hits him, a sharp slap to the side of his arse that radiates with warmth once the sting registers.

“You will address me properly or I’ll have to punish you,” Anthony whispers, his smile sharpening to a grin filled with teeth, dangerous and beautiful.

He almost wants to snark back ‘ _sounds like motivation to me_ ’ but instead all that comes out is another whine, utterly incapable of directly disobeying because he wants to please Anthony so badly. Besides, despite the fact that he paradoxically likes to be punished, he has a suspicion that Anthony’s punishments will be _vastly_ different than what Dorian’s (or even what the monsters in his past but again, irrelevant) were – instead of strappings or spankings or even whippings, things that Stephen both despises and _loves_ to suffer through, he thinks that Anthony would _truly_ punish him, not with the things Stephen needs to drop but with things that would genuinely be devastating to his submissive hindbrain.

He both wants to find out and avoid it as long as humanly possible.

So Stephen breathes out obediently, “Yes, Anthony.”

“Good boy,” Anthony praises him, soothing the warmth of his slap with a heavy palm, and then pushes himself up, brushing along Stephen’s aching prick for a glorious moment before he’s stepping away, squatting down to unhook his ankle restraints so he can walk.

When he’s upright again, Anthony hooks his fingers into Stephen’s collar and begins dragging him along carelessly, laughing brightly as Stephen chokes and moans thinly behind him, stumbling on liquid legs without being able to throw his arms out for balance due to still being restrained in front of his body. His eyes are glazed with the pleasure of it all as well as the lack of fulfilling oxygen, and when they stop in front of a handmade contraption he doesn’t remember seeing during his first visit to this space, he can’t compute what it is at first because his vision is so blurred. In the time that it takes for Anthony to undo his wrist restraints, he blinks rapidly in an attempt to study it with full focus, trying to work out exactly what it is. It’s obviously some sort of padded table, grey matte metal and brown leather, but there’s an odd square cut-out almost in the direct middle, which he doesn’t understand the purpose of, and then there’s a soft, plush cushion underneath the entire table, like one that would be used to kneel comfortably. The D-rings on the sturdy legs are easier to suss out, clearly meant to chain him down, but he’s not sure where he’s supposed to be or what he’s supposed to _do_.

He learns pretty damn quick when Anthony steps behind him and pushes him face-down onto the table, bodily manoeuvring him with rough, harsh movements until he’s stretched along it, his prick and balls dangling towards the floor through the square cut-out in the table.

He is tied down without fanfare or gentleness, new bands being put around his ankles and wrists that can be chained to the D-rings on the legs of the table, and his collar ripples around his neck as the nanites form into yet another D-ring along the front, which is promptly chained to the table as well. All slack is cut off, Stephen completely unable to move without dislocating something or choking himself out, and the complete immobility as well as the blindfold that’s put around his eyes makes every sense flare out with a rush of wild pleasure, his hips weakly grinding against the table with the minimal give they have to do so. It doesn’t help at all, the hole in the table not allowing him any friction whatsoever, and he sobs out a desperate moan, jerking as much as he can and fingers clenching on air as they dangle off the sides of the table.

A ball is placed in his right hand, and he squeezes it instinctively, growing even hotter at the implications of it. Sure enough, Anthony husks out, “Drop the ball if you need me to stop, do you understand?”

“ _Yes, Anthony_ ,” he whimpers, feverish and shaking.

“What’s your safeword?” he demands regardless and Stephen immediately drops the ball, only to be caught mid-air judging by the dull sound of it hitting a palm.

It’s placed back into his hand and Anthony asks insistently, “Can your hands take that?”

“Yes Anthony,” he breathes, injecting every gram of honesty he can. He _can_ hold it, his nerve-damaged fingers more than capable of holding onto things in this state – he’s already gripping it so tightly that the shaking is muted by pressure, and Anthony hasn’t even started doing whatever he’s planning. If he needs to safeword, he’ll be able to drop it, knowing from experience that his extremities will go liquid with fear and enable him to unclench his fingers easily despite the panic. It’s almost an instinctive response, trained into him over twenty years by Dorian when he’d gagged or otherwise silenced Stephen during play, and yes, he’ll be able to handle it.

Anthony’s quiet for a moment, either drinking in Stephen’s involuntary twitches or working out if Stephen’s telling the truth, but finally there’s the sound of movement and suddenly there’s something being fed into his mouth, phallic in shape but clearly synthetic, not long enough to cut off his air but thick enough that he feels full.

Stephen’s already sucking on the gag, saliva pooling in his mouth and threatening to drip out, when he distantly hears Anthony preparing. The snap of gloves makes his blood rush even hotter because _fuck_ , he knows what that means, knows what’s coming next and oh God yes, he wants it. His hips twitch as much as they can, trying to arch up, and he moans around the gag when Anthony spanks him almost absently across the flesh of his arse before he’s forcing Stephen still, gloved fingers spreading his cheeks apart.

Almost without warning, two slick, nitrile-covered fingers are sliding into his body, insistent but careful just the same, and Stephen _sobs_.

He’s delirious as Anthony fucks his fingers into Stephen’s hole, in and out and _dragging_ , Stephen’s body so aroused that he opens up easily despite the abrupt entry. It seems like it takes barely any time at all before Anthony’s found his prostate, rubbing and massaging into it until Stephen’s weeping with pleasure, heaving against his restraints and his balls contracting so violently that he knows he’s dripping everywhere, prick untouched and aching as it hangs between his legs.

The fingers leave and Stephen thrashes as much as he can, the collar as well as the leather bands around his ankles and wrists digging into skin. He can vaguely hear himself begging for Anthony to _put them back please Anthony put them back_ around the gag, but Anthony just laughs again, a hoarse but delighted sound that sounds as wrecked as Stephen feels, spanking his arse brutally hard a few times in flashes of pain that make him shudder and writhe.

Then something big and unyielding slides inside him with a sharp, but manageable sting from the size, a nub of hard plastic digging into his perineum once it’s fully seated, and Stephen cries out a garbled “oh _fuck_ ” when it suddenly vibrates to life, assaulting his prostate from the inside out.

He convulses feebly and he can’t stop sobbing, soaking his blindfold as he drools around the gag until he can feel a mixture of fluid pooling at his cheek. Everything narrows down to the frantic need to come, the unrelenting battering of his prostate, and the deep pool of his submission, vibrant and cloying in his head; he’s so fucking close to the edge, of orgasm and subspace, that he can damn near see and taste it, and he thinks he could come untouched from this, just from being helpless at Anthony’s hand and stuffed from both sides. His balls contract again, tensing in preparation as his prick throbs, and he sucks in a ragged inhale through his nose and can’t manage to let it out, entire body going taut as he—

There’s an agonising bloom of fire that rushes through his balls and he _screams_.

He doesn’t know what it is but _fuck_ it’s painful as Anthony hits his sensitive groin with something flexible, over and over and _over_ again, fast and sharp even though he abstractly knows the hits are not nearly as brutal as it feels like. It both feeds his feverish arousal and shocks him away from the orgasm that had been so goddamn close, and he’s fucking dropping hard, like a meteor speeding through the atmosphere, brain flooding with chemicals as he wails and sobs and chokes on the gag and the suddenly-tight restriction around his throat, the collar so constricted around his neck that bright spots dance in his vision. He can hear Anthony speaking through the roar in his ears, rough and filthy and wrecked – _fuck you’re beautiful so fucking desperate for me does it hurt baby does it feel good when i hurt you like this come on baby scream for me i wanna hear you scream for it like the depraved little bitch you are_ – as he hits and hits and _hits_ , and Stephen just cries out between sobs, wordless and weak and choked, close-close-close and feeling like he’s going to burst into a thousand pieces.

And then there’s a clatter and a long, thick groan, and he feels Anthony climb on top of him, straddling strong thighs around Stephen’s lower back. He arches over Stephen, teeth biting into his shoulder in a flash of sharp pain, hard enough to bruise and nearly break skin. The damp head of a dripping prick is pressed against the small of Stephen’s back, knuckles a blurring motion against his skin as Anthony jerks himself off frantically, and there’s suddenly his other hand is slipping into the square cut-out of the table, scrambling for purchase before it’s brutally pulling at Stephen’s own tender, beaten prick.

Stephen snaps with a ringing shriek, the orgasm tearing through him like a goddamn tsunami as every bit of his body turns to fire, and then hits the first wave of full subspace at the first pulse of come that arches from Anthony’s prick to paint Stephen’s flesh with his pleasure, the ball dropping from his suddenly lax fingers as he goes completely boneless.

The pain turns to liquid gold, everything going slow and bright as his mind positively melts from the force of it, and it feeds and feeds and _feeds_ into itself until Stephen feels overwhelmed from the overload. He’s high and wasted, his whole existence nothing but pleasure and pain, and it stretches it out like it’ll never stop, going higher as it surges with the oversensitivity of his body, more chemicals flooding his bloodstream while the restraints and Anthony’s body weight against his back force him to suffer even more. It’s blinding and raw, pure fire and acid in every nerve, and it’s excruciatingly painful and _beautiful_ even as Anthony begins to wind him down, the plug in his arse _slowly_ lowering its vibrations while his hypersensitive prick and balls are jerked slowly instead of viciously pulled to wring every drop of spunk from his balls.

Anthony leisurely pulls out the plug that’s still vibrating against his prostate, making Stephen whine with relief and disappointment both, but his fingers are back almost instantly, fingering him shallowly and sporadically brushing against his too-sensitive prostate; even though it’s painful and too intense, he just takes it, the discomfort just feeding into his high and ratcheting it up higher. His deflating prick is fondled, a firm grip that gradually eases into the brush of calloused fingers along throbbing skin, and the collar constricts and loosens irregularly. Anthony scrapes his teeth along Stephen’s back, shoulders, and neck, mouthing at the bruises he leaves in his wake while his weight gets heavier and heavier along his back, a substantial comfort as Stephen’s body makes the transition from pain and high to only high, flying at the feeling of the natural chemicals flooding his brain while being surrounded and overpowered by his Dom.

Every movement of his shuddering, ravished body – fingers inside him, on him, lips against his skin, Anthony’s compact body trembling and panting on top of him – sluggishly goes still, and Stephen rides the high, everything else gone in a blur of boneless pleasure.

He’s not sure how long he drifts – he’s vaguely aware of Anthony nuzzling his neck with soft words as his hands blindly work to unchain his hands and collar, vaguely aware of Anthony’s body weight slowly lifting away so he can do the same to his ankles, vaguely aware of being unbuckled out of the restraints and the collar being gently taken off his neck, vaguely aware of his limbs and muscles being massaged with strong hands, vaguely aware of sugary liquid being tipped into his mouth in manageable sips until his throat is incapable of swallowing anymore fluids. The vertigo of being twisted and then lifted into Anthony’s arms barely registers, Stephen too stoned to differentiate between physical movement and the floating delirium in his head, but he curls into the embrace, burying his head into Anthony’s warm neck and laughing hazily when Anthony has to grab his arse for purchase. He feels so warm and safe and light as Anthony holds him, and he can’t stop mouthing at Anthony’s throat in a daze, melting even further when he feels Anthony laugh breathlessly with him, even tilting his head obligingly so Stephen can run his lips and teeth against more damp, salty skin.

 _I love you_ , he thinks giddily, and soars.

He has the distant sensation of being weightless and strangely heavy all at once as they begin moving and he tries to will himself lighter, which makes him laugh when he remembers that that’s not how gravity works. He tries to tell Anthony that he’s had a science thought, mouth opening as the words bubble up his throat, but promptly gets distracted by the sensation of Anthony’s skin again and all he can do is tongue and suck at the sweat, humming with bright contentment when Anthony’s neck vibrates with a groan.

He’s aware that the lighting changes, goes dimmer and then brighter without a spoken word or a shuffle to flip a switch, and then he’s gently sat on cool porcelain. He clings to Anthony before he can pull away, weak and watery limbs trying to keep him close, but he distantly hears Anthony murmur soothingly, “I’m right here, okay baby? I’m not going anywhere.” That makes him go boneless again, slumping sideways until he can press himself against a wall, and he flickers his heavy eyelids open to place himself – private toilet cubicle attached to a luxurious bathroom, which he distantly recalls as the same one from their previous scenes, and that means they’re in Stephen’s recovery suite, which is just down the corridor from what he thinks might be Anthony’s personal suite – before he lets his eyes close again, comforted by the now-familiar environment despite his shivers as the cool air finally registers in his fuzzy brain.

Water running, shuffling, dizziness, and then the beat of warmth along his shoulders as water falls around them once again. He tries to reach out, liquid arms uncooperative and heavy, but Anthony just hums at him, stroking Stephen’s pliant body with his hands that washes away the sweat, come, and tears all over him. He leans into it, eventually sagging forward so his forehead is nestled back into Anthony’s kiss-bitten neck – _I did that_ , he thinks with a giddy trill of pleasure – and melts again, practically purring as he drapes his heavy arms lazily around Anthony’s shoulders to keep himself upright. He has the distant thought that being plastered against Anthony’s front on unsteady legs isn’t conducive to rinsing either one of them off properly but Anthony doesn’t move him away, simply snaking his hands between them to caress and soothe.

Then the water’s off, and he’s all but carried out of the shower, his body so languid and disobliging that he wants to giggle as Anthony tries to dry them with warm towels; he doesn’t though, his brain starting to slow down, and he’s so very tired. He wants to curl up against Anthony’s naked body and burrow in his arms, wants to float in a warm, luxurious embrace until the high eases enough where he can sleep, safe and protected and surrounded.

He’s so gone that he doesn’t register being lifted again, doesn’t realise that they’re moving or comprehend where they’re going, and he doesn’t really care as long as Anthony’s here. He does whine when Anthony sits him on a bed and starts to move away, incapable of stopping himself from reaching out and pulling at his arms, and Stephen opens his eyes again, vision blurry and half-lidded as he blinks sleepily up at his Dom, silently begging him to not leave.

Anthony watches him for a long moment, intense and searching as the reactor’s light dances in his dark eyes, and then slowly starts to move down, his body gorgeous and strong as he nudges them both to the centre of the bed, almost tentatively pulling Stephen close again and letting their naked limbs tangle together. Stephen sighs with contentment, flattening himself against Anthony’s body from head to toe as Anthony throws cool sheets and blankets over them with some shuffling, and then settles down, letting his mouth groggily brush against Anthony’s neck while his eyes flutter closed once again.

 _Don’t leave_ , he thinks he says, and Anthony strokes calloused fingers down his spine as if in response, tickling and soothing all at once.

Stephen presses a soft, sleepy kiss against warm skin and thinks _I love you_ before he falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

_Three_

He wakes up slowly, this time completely aware and in control.

He does the usual spiel, taking stock of his body – remarkably pain-free (which is a first after a successful scene for a severe masochist like Stephen), unbelievably heavy from lingering sleep and that ridiculously intense orgasm, and his prick rather hard – and his mind – just as steady as before the scene, really, though he feels lighter and infinitely more centred, and the usual self-disgust is completely absent, just like last time, isn’t that beautiful – before focussing on his surroundings by feel rather than sight.

For starters, Antho—Tony’s clearly awake, and while Stephen’s not wrapped around him like a leech this time, keeping him trapped against the bed, it’s pretty obvious that Tony’s a bit tense because this time _he’s_ is the one that’s draped over Stephen, their legs twisted together and Tony’s cheek pressed against Stephen’s chest. Stephen’s mildly curious as to what’s going on in that big brain of his, whether he’s preparing to calmly move himself away now that Stephen won’t be jostled awake by any movement or if he’s nervous for some reason, like he’s been caught doing something wrong. Not that he has – Stephen’s a bit surprised that they’re both still naked, figuring that Tony would’ve dressed them once Stephen had passed out, but he’s comfortable with the fact that Tony’s pressed against him, despite his morning (or whatever time it is) erection being pressed against Tony’s thigh and Tony’s own half-hard prick wedged against Stephen’s hip.

Tony squirms a bit and Stephen can’t help but laugh groggily when it dawns on him, saying in a sleep-rough voice, “Go, be gone with you.”

Tony huffs out a laugh, shoves at his face playfully, and then scrambles off, beelining towards the loo without a word.

Stephen dozes half-heartedly, not really game to waking up fully even though he knows Tony’ll want to debrief. He’s always been prompt at checking off that necessity as soon as he’s sure Stephen’s not down, which is fair, Stephen figures; it’s better to get it out of the way while it’s still fresh in their minds, and he has an inkling that Tony’ll want to talk about it because Stephen had approached him outside of a breakdown. Considering Stephen himself had been utterly positive he’d never do such a thing and yet had done it after only one full scene and one accidental one, he wouldn’t really blame Tony for trying to figure out _why_.

Oh, and that’s going to be a nerve-wracking conversation because Stephen really needs to broach the subject of renegotiation, doesn’t he?

He _should_ just ask the bastard out for a coffee but God, that’s even more nerve-wracking.

How does one even start a conversation like that anyway? ‘ _Oh by the way, I really want you to fuck me in every hole I can take you in when we’re playing, and even when we’re not, and also we should get dinner beforehand because I’m in love with you._ ’ Yeah, no, but that’s horrible, though he supposes that there’s something to be said about bluntness. It’s not like Stephen’s not known for being blunt, and honestly, Tony’s pretty infamous for being the same, not to mention he’s shown a remarkable lack of subtlety overall when it comes to communication in their activities, for obvious reasons. It might just be better to get it all out (though he still is wary about propositioning an _actual_ relationship) with little to no fanfare, and at least he knows that Tony’s already game _to_ renegotiate.

Tony’s not gone for long but instead of climbing back into bed, Stephen feels him sit on the edge and that’s much too far away for Stephen’s tastes. He blindly reaches out and pulls him down, close enough to touch but not quite plastered against Stephen’s body, breathing in unison with matching inhales and exhales for a long and soothing amount of time.

Then Tony gets on with it, predictably: “How you feeling?”

Stephen sighs, half out of disappointment because the calm tranquillity before the storm is now over and half because he’s going to have to meet his nerves head-on now; still, he supposes that he should answer Tony’s questions about the scene itself before he brings up anything else, so that does give him some more time to muster up some courage. “Good. I’m good. I should sit up, shouldn’t I?”

“If it keeps you from falling asleep on me, then by all means,” Tony says, a smile in his voice.

Stephen grumbles a bit, working up the energy to open his heavy eyes and get his body moving for the serious conversation, then decides that it’s not happening, not exactly. He turns on his side to face Tony instead of sitting up, pulling one of the pillows he’s laid on close so he can wrap his arms around while still being able to rest his head on it, and blinks his eyes open, his right hand manoeuvring just a bit so he can rub at his eyes with his fingertips. When his eyes feel less crusted with sleep, he blinks them open, rapidly at first to acclimate to the light and make his brain get with the programme because it’s time to be awake now, at least until they finish this debrief and renegotiation.

He looks at Tony – his eyes linger on the bruises Stephen left on his neck before they trail down, noting with a fair bit of petulance that Tony’s slipped on loose joggers – and dear fuck he’s gorgeous, even in the light of day when Stephen’s not down. It’s impossible not to physically react to the sight, especially since he’s still rather hard like usual when he first wakes up, but the position of his body and the blanket covering him from the waist down does help hide it (even though there’s not much point hiding it, really).

Then he says, “It was good. I’ve never done a lot of that, same as last time, so I was always on my toes.” He pauses for a moment, then admits bluntly, “I liked serving you. I think that’s rather obvious, considering.” Tony’s lips quirk for a moment before he seemingly forces himself to appear unruffled instead of pleased, and Stephen can’t help but snort before he continues honestly, “I don’t know what happened. It almost felt like subspace but it most assuredly wasn’t, considering the lack of pain to prompt a chemical reaction.”

“To be fair, you don’t really have the best perspective on that,” Tony says. Stephen opens his mouth to refute that with a good amount of irritation – because he’s a damn neurosurgeon before a sorcerer, after all, and this is his fucking area – but Tony says evenly, “The chemical reaction is triggered by the fight-or-flight response, but that doesn’t necessarily mean pain every time. Sure, pain makes it a...well, let’s just say _different_ type of subspace, but you can hit subspace without being a masochist or getting hurt.”

“That’s scientifically and medically impossible,” Stephen says, trying not to let his exasperation bleed into his voice. Tony’s one of the smartest men on the planet, well-versed in many areas, and Stephen’s sure that he’s done copious amounts of research on subspace because he’s a damn good Dom and all good Dominants learn all they can about what submissives go through during scenes, but there’s no way that Tony has more information than Stephen, who’s both a submissive and a _literal doctor_ , amongst other things. “The chemical reaction happens _because_ of the sympathetic nervous system’s acute response to pain, which triggers a glandular re—”

“You do know there’s a difference between physiological and psychological subspace, correct?” Tony interrupts, and to his credit, he doesn’t sound condescending or annoyed, only patient and calm.

Stephen pauses, frowning slightly as he wracks his brain trying to recall his past study on the subject, both during his medical profession and schooling as well as his extracurricular research within the community. Stephen has a photographic memory, which has always served him well in any study he’s ever dived into, but he can’t recall any mention of different _types_ of subspace, only different human _responses_ to it. Then again, it’s been a while since he’s studied it from the standpoint of the BDSM community – in the medical field, the concept of subspace is fairly cut-and-dry, clinical descriptions of what the brain and various hormonal glands do when responding to pain, whereas the community is generally always evolving. Still, there’s nothing that can be evolved in response to what the brain does during scenes, unless...

“Psychosomatic?” he asks.

Tony shuffles a bit, sitting up again and crossing his legs into each other, pulling the blanket over himself. Once he’s settled, he says, “No, not at all. It’s not a new concept, exactly – I think I was in my late thirties or early forties when it started becoming widespread, so it’s been a good decade or so, which probably explains why you might not be tracking if you avoided any further research with your previous Dom once you’d gotten into a steady groove.”

“Explain,” Stephen demands.

Tony snorts, shaking his head with a slight smile, but obliges. “You know the physiological side of it pretty intimately, and it’s on-brand with the medical definition: pushing through the fight-or-flight response, nervous system activating all the hormonal glands applicable to release all the fun, pain- and stress-related _au naturel_ chems into your body that won’t make you pop positive on a drug test as well as the happy chems, blah-blah-blah. Standard shit, y’know? Anyway, the psychological side is similar, just a general inversion of what the physiological reaction triggers, so essentially the happy chems but some of the fight-or-flight ones too because of natural stress.”

Stephen’s frown deepens, even though he thinks he understands what Tony means. “I’m not an endocrinologist but I am aware of what dopamine and oxytocin does to the human brain, and it would make sense regarding endorphins, as they might be a natural pain reliever but are also associated with sex or even something as simple as eating. There’s an influx from a purely mental response?”

Tony smiles, an easy quirk of his mouth. “Sure, kind of like how people go funky when they’re in love or having really good sex, which is scientifically documented to cause a rise in hormones too. Scenes themselves are very stressful, even when there’s no pain involved, because the human brain instinctively wants to either assert independence for whatever reason or is doing the complete opposite of that by experiencing stress and anxiety over a wide variety of issues, be it panic over whether they’re responding properly or following orders perfectly or whatever. In an acute situation like a scene, the brain overcompensates with the general hormonal flood when you’re activating the pleasure and reward systems in your head as well as a bit of fight-or-flight hormones added to the mix for funsies. It’s fairly well-documented in the kink community by this point, and physiological subspace is actually a lot less common than most people think, now that there’s been some research done on it, not only in the scene but in the endo and psych fields as well.”

It’s the first time Stephen’s heard of such a thing but it does make sense, even if he can’t quite compartmentalise the fact that _he himself_ experienced it, after a lifetime of only going down from pain. He nods a bit stiltedly and says, “I’m going to do some research on my own, but the logic’s sound I suppose.”

Tony grins and says, “Don’t sound so grumpy about me knowing something medical that you don’t, Doc.” Then he shrugs a single shoulder and continues, “Anyway, psychological subspace is absolutely a thing and you definitely fit the general parameters I’ve seen in my forays – bodily responses impaired without losing complete control like you see in physiological subspace, mental state went batshit but not to the point of negating your capability of consent, et cetera et cetera. You were still _present_ , rather than just, like, completely stoned out of your mind and unresponsive to literally everything around you. There’s no such thing as textbook subspace, but it was pretty obvious that you hit it right after...” Surprisingly, Tony’s ears go a bit red as he trails off, and he clears his throat before he continues, “Right after I got off the first time.”

Mostly because he kind of wants to fuck with Tony but also because it’s true, Stephen says airily, “That was nice.”

Tony laughs. “Sure, that was nice,” Tony affirms, eyes darting around Stephen’s face for a long second before he rolls his eyes. “You’re a little shit.” Then his face brightens with mischievous amusement as he continues, “In fact, you were a _brat_ during that scene, Stephen Strange. Kinda threw me for a fuckin’ loop for a hot minute because you give off purist vibes to a fault.”

Stephen ponders that strange concept for a second and then replies slowly, “Actually, pure is the absolute last thing anyone else would label me as, though a SAM is a close second.”

Tony eyes him, the amusement gone in exchange for contemplative. Just as slowly, Tony says, “Well, I fully expected it to be hard work getting you down because of how you framed it all at first, but I’m not going to lie, you’ve been pretty purist for me. You go down so goddamn fast it’s almost ridiculous, and other than that one time you freaked out on me, which we got past pretty damn quick if I’m honest, I haven’t had to fight you at all.”

Stephen has to ask: “Do you have a preference?”

Tony answers evenly, “I’m a sensual sadist, so yeah, obviously I like force, but I’m not really picky. As long as the person I’m playing with is a masochist of some sort, I’m definitely on board.”

“Do you...want me to fight?” Stephen asks.

“I don’t _want_ you to do anything,” Tony insists, practically exuding honesty from his pores. “If you feel like you need to fight, then fight. If you go down like a boulder in the first five seconds and need to be completely pliant, then go down like a boulder in the first five seconds and be completely pliant. If you want to be a little shit, then be a little shit. If you need or want to do all three or even something else, then do that. No matter what you do, I’m more than capable of handling you, and you’re sure as hell not going to hear me complaining about it. Nothing wrong with a bit of variety, after all.” Then, after a beat of silence, he adds almost tentatively, “I _am_ curious about you hitting psychological subspace though, and I kind of want to poke you with a stick for the sake of knowing, even if it’s probably not going to happen, if I’m being totally honest with myself.”

Stephen raises an eyebrow in question and Tony shrugs, eyes bright. “I’m curious as to whether psychological subspace can hit your reset switch as effectively as physiological seems to. I think the fact that you were a bit of a brat in the beginning had more to do with you being in a good headspace when you came to me, and yes, we’ll be talking about that in a minute. But anyway, you being in a good headspace gave your brain a bit of leeway to fuck with me, which you don’t seem to be able to do when you’re edging to the point of mental breakdown, and that allowed you be cognisant of your environment to the point where you could slip into a form of subspace without being beaten into it. So, you know, it’d be fairly easy to test if you came to me before you were out of your mind but after you’ve started edging to the point of having negative physical reactions, but yeah, probably not gonna happen.”

Stephen’s a man of science too, particularly in the medical sciences, so he can’t deny that it would be interesting to test something like that out, even though he wants to balk because he really _loves_ being hurt and doesn’t want to miss out on Tony ( _Anthony_ ) making him suffer in new and exciting ways. Slowly, he questions, “Why wouldn’t that be something we could test?”

Tony laughs again, this time with an edge of embarrassment, and the flush in his ears brightens while his cheekbones go dark to match. With a shake of his head, he answers, “For one? I _love_ that you came to me without being in a bad headspace and I don’t want to discourage that, both because it’s really good for you but also because I fucking loved you being a little shit and I’d like to play around with that in the future. Honestly though, the main reason is because I am totally weak and won’t be able to stop myself from going one step past a psychological test because I know you love it when I hurt you, especially since I love _making_ you hurt.”

Stephen shivers all over, mouth going dry and his now-soft prick twitching with interest against his thigh.

“Called it,” Tony teases, grinning widely with a show of teeth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Stephen complains without any heat, then darts a hand out so he can grab the corner of a nearby pillow and whack Tony in the face with it.

Tony splutters and nearly keels over, even though Stephen hadn’t hit him hard, then yanks the pillow away and hits him back before tossing it to the far corner of the bed, laughing brightly all the while. Stephen can’t help but join in, cheeks stretching with the strength of his smile, and dear fuck he loves this man. He wants to wake up every morning like this, playful and at ease, and he is a coward for not opening his mouth and just _asking_.

“Anyway!” Tony exclaims when Stephen is reaching for yet another pillow to retaliate, unwilling to relinquish the one his head’s already on, and two strong hands clamp down on his forearm to keep him from doing so. “Before this escalates to a full-on pillow fight like we’re preteens or something, can we move on?”

Stephen sighs in mock annoyance but obliges, allowing his arm to go lax so Tony can let him go without fearing another smack. “Fine,” he drawls out, easing himself back to his comfortable sprawl, and watches as Tony shuffles around, pulling the blanket back over his legs from where it’d slipped off during the levity and hiding any potential evidence in the case that he gets hard.

It’s probably a good thing that Tony’s half-dressed, if Stephen’s honest. He doesn’t really trust himself to not _touch_ if Tony was still naked.

“Right, so you hit subspace twice, once in a different way than you’re used to, you liked the scene, all that jazz,” Tony begins, a serious expression on his face now. It’s just as alluring as seeing joy and playfulness on those handsome features are, but Stephen’s stomach flutters with nerves because yeah, looks like they’re about to talk about more heavy subjects and this is the point of no return. Tony continues, “Anything you didn’t like, want to explore further, or are unsure about? Give me the concrit or give me death.”

Stephen steels his nerves, swallows thickly, and then says quietly, “Nothing I didn’t like or am unsure about, but I do want to renegotiate.”

Tony goes very still, eyes intense as he reads every micro-expression Stephen’s giving off and chewing the inside of his cheek absently while he processes whatever he’s seeing. Off-handedly, Stephen says, “You shouldn’t do that – your dentist will give you a lecture.”

“Tell that to my OCD,” Tony shoots back distractedly, but he does stop for a moment before starting up again, probably unaware that he’s even doing it. Then he cocks his head at Stephen and asks carefully, “You wanna start scratching the itch, don’t you?”

Stephen takes a deep breath and then answers simply, “Yes.”

Tony stares at him for another long minute, his brain working behind those dark eyes so clearly that Stephen can almost see neurons firing, and then says, “Alright. Hold on a sec.” He pushes himself up and heads over towards the desk in the corner, lean and purposeful and so goddamn gorgeous that it’s almost ridiculous. He opens a drawer in the desk and removes a sleek tablet, then closes it and turns on his heel, heading back without fanfare. He hops back onto the bed and shuffles until his bare back is pressed against the headboard, yanking at the blankets again so he can weasel his way under them. He’s close enough that Stephen could reach out, drag his palm up those strong thighs until he could slip his hand underneath the waistband of his joggers and wrap his fingers aro—

“Just to stiff-arm any potential concerns, I built this myself in the shop a few weeks after the first time, same as the printer over there. Completely stripped of anything that can connect other than a unique port that connects them to each other directly – well, I can connect them to Extremis of course, but I digress – and it’s coded to our biometrics in the event that we want to fiddle with the inputs or just want to look at it. Not even FRIDAY has access to it. Just wanted to have something digital so we could make adjustments without running out of room on the paper copies, though I’ll print one out for you if you want one. Cool?”

“Understood,” Stephen agrees, forcing himself to stop fantasising about having his way with Tony and pay attention while inwardly telling his prick to behave (a futile endeavour, honestly). He pushes himself up as well, feet flat against the mattress as his legs bend up at the knees; it’ll hide the stiffening organ between his thighs, though it’s rather unnecessary since Tony will know he’s hard anyway, Tony’s almost preternatural ability to read Stephen as well as the subject matter being arousing itself likely to give him away within about half a second. Besides, it’s not like this is a strange thing between them, so there’s no real reason to hide it in the first place – natural bodily reactions and all that, nothing to really be ashamed of (especially since Tony’s pulled him off twice now).

They both lean over towards each other, Tony holding the tablet in his hands between them. He makes a show of powering it on with his biometrics – a retinal scan – as well as a passcode – that Stephen quickly memorises – and then tapping the only icon on the home page, a spreadsheet that looks identical to the paper copy of their arrangement Stephen has in a warded-to-hell compartment in his private quarters at the New York Sanctum, albeit with all the handwritten comments typed out neatly. Stephen appreciates the demonstration, as he doesn’t have much experience with the new tablets since he has never owned one, because Tony could do all of this mentally with Extremis faster than Stephen could blink, let alone follow.

“Alright, so scratching the itch,” Tony says slowly, visibly hesitates with a long glance at Stephen, then asks, “You sure?”

“Yes,” Stephen says again, staring at Tony dead-on.

Tony studies him for a moment longer, then gives him a quick, barely-there smile and then says, “Alright. I’ll caveat by saying that since it was a hard limit for you before, this is not going to be a talk and immediate readjustment. Instead, we’ll talk, figure out where the new lines will be, take a bit of time to think about everything without being influenced by any lingering chems, then meet up to make any more adjustments if needed and _then_ set any changes in stone. If you come to me before that, we’ll operate under the current agreement, but I will say that if you do that, we’ll have to extend further because I want you to have a good chunk of time to think about this while you’re clear-headed. Does that work for you?”

For a moment, Stephen can’t answer, a bit overwhelmed and emotional if he’s honest. He understands the point that Tony’s trying to make – that he wants Stephen lucid and fully steady and since they’re fresh out of a scene, they’re _both_ still feeling the aftereffects of coming off a really good high and therefore can’t be held liable to any decision they might come to – and completely agrees with the idea, but it’s still _amazing_. Tony’s self-admittedly more familiar, and perhaps even more _comfortable_ , with sexual activity in his scenes and is probably excited at the prospect of getting to be sexual in his Domination of Stephen because it’s how he’s wired, not to mention excited at the plethora of options that are now being opened up to him when those options had been hard limits before. And yet he’s stalling anyway, certainly aware that Stephen could completely change his mind or back out due to fear but unwilling to allow anything to happen without Stephen being fully on-board and consenting with a clear head.

None of the so-called ‘Doms’ he’d been with before Dorian would’ve ever done such a thing if he’d ever had a repeat performance with any of them, he knows for a fact. He’s also seen and heard the same thing happen in dungeons during his teenage years too, where limits had been moulded or changed entirely in response to something ‘hot’ happening on stage or in a dark corner. He supposes that Dorian might’ve done something similar to what Tony’s proposing, had he been single and into men, but he honestly doesn’t know– during the (lacklustre in comparison to Tony’s) debriefs, when Stephen had submitted to Dorian in combination with his wife, she’d mentioned a few times that she wanted to change her limits due to seeing Stephen suffering through something and he’d easily agreed, on one occasion even praising her for being willing to try before hurriedly dismissing a clear-headed Stephen, already pulling down his pyjamas to display his hard prick. But they’d been married for damn near ten years before Stephen had even entered the picture and had been dating since they were both thirteen, so Stephen can’t presume their communication or the way they negotiated with each other because every couple and relationship, professional or personal, is different.

Even though Stephen’s completely fucking sure that he wants to do this, he’s just...really overwhelmed, and he says softly, “Thank you.”

Tony smiles at him warmly, eyes bright and crinkled at the corners.

He opens his mouth to start talking again but Stephen clears his throat and is compelled to add, “Not that I’ll change my mind, of course – I’ve been thinking about this for about three months now, so I already know what I want to adjust in our agreement, and I know precisely what I’d like those changes will be. Still agree with the waiting period, not only for me but for you as well, and I would’ve asked for something similar if you hadn’t offered.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised, and asks, “Three months? Huh. Why didn’t you say something?”

Stephen replies honestly, “I wanted to be sure, and then I got...distracted by the other side of it.” The other eyebrow raises, silently demanding an explanation, so Stephen sighs and confesses, “I just wanted to know if it would feel any different if I went into it with my head still intact – which, for the record, it doesn’t, because I felt clear-headed before the scene and I feel just as clear-headed now, albeit back at peak rather than starting to feel the beginnings of a fracture. I think I also wanted to know before I brought up renegotiation if the last scene was a fluke, some sort of cosmic impossibility that was never going to be repeated. Perhaps a few consecutive scenes where I feel _good_ rather than self-destructive isn’t indicative of what it will always be like in the future, but I’m confident regardless _because_ of that consecutive pattern that I’ll be good for the most part because you’ve never let me fall. Naturally, I expect some blowback when reintroducing triggering play until I either get comfortable with sex during a scene again or throw the idea back out because I can’t handle it after all, but I really just want to _try_ , even if it doesn’t end up working out. I trust you, Tony.”

There’s a beat of silence after Stephen’s finished explaining, as if Tony’s making sure he’s done talking, and then Tony says in a suspiciously tight voice, “Okay, sounds good.”

Stephen eyes him, taking in his overly bright eyes and the tenseness in his body language, and states flatly, “If you cry, I will never forgive you because I’m overly emotional right now and will probably cry too, which will result in me being utterly miserable for about twelve hours.”

“And not in a fun way, I’m guessing,” Tony jokes, though his voice is almost a croak.

Stephen hesitates, wondering if he should even bring it up, but there’s no use keeping things quiet and he thinks he knows what’s going on here. So he asks cautiously, “Being trusted really gets to you, doesn’t it?”

Tony swallows thickly, kiss-bitten throat working hard, and he takes a few deep breaths before he drops his eyes to the tablet, eyes glazed. “Yeah,” he rasps, then clears his throat and continues in a slightly stronger tone, “I know it’s kind of...insane, because it’s not like this is something out of the ordinary or alien to me or whatever, especially considering everything post-Thanos, but—I—yes. It really, really does. Just—thank you.”

The warmth that curls through Stephen’s entire body makes him ache, all the way down to the marrow in his bones, and all he wants to do is _touch_. He can’t help but reach over, placing one scarred, shaking hand on the warm skin of Tony’s forearm and wrapping his fingers around it, feeling tense muscles under his palms flex at his touch before settling.

Tony lifts his eyes to look at Stephen as he says earnestly, “Seriously. Thank you. It’s honestly and genuinely a gift to have it from you, especially considering that I’m actively and intentionally hurting you on a semi-regular basis and could _really_ hurt you if I was a piece of shit like all those other fuckers you’ve been with.” Before Stephen can even respond to that, Tony laughs, a bit wet and shaky, and continues, “Sorry, I’m good. I’m really, really good, but I probably _will_ cry if we keep talking about this and no one wants to see that. You’re not the only one who’s overly emotional right now. So should we hash it out then, or do we need a mutual break first? I’m good either way.”

 _I love you_ , Stephen thinks feverishly, throat tight with the sentiment, and says instead, “I’m alright.”

God, he’s a coward.

Tony shuffles a bit in a futile attempt to muffle a sniff, then says in a stronger voice, “Alright, lay it on me.”

Stephen fights with himself for a long moment – desperate to derail the conversation again because he wants to say those three little words but so terrified of ruining this amazing thing they have if Tony doesn’t or can’t return his feelings – and then says, “I want to touch you.”

“Well that’s specific,” Tony teases, shooting him a shaky grin that strengthens the more he visibly pulls himself together, body straightening as he falls back to his comfort zone of working through something he finds important. Stephen smiles back, a bit self-deprecating and shaky himself and trying not to visibly shake with nerves, and with a gentle bump of their shoulders in silent support, Tony continues, “So I’m gonna need some elaboration, obviously. Why don’t we take this one step at a time?”

Honestly, Stephen doesn’t know how he’s going to articulate himself anyway without making an utter fool of himself – if it was just sex it would be easy an easy thing to accomplish, sharp smirks and sultry grins and sensual words filled with promise, but this is so far from _just sex_ that it’s almost ridiculous and as much as he loves this man, wants to take him to bed outside of this arrangement as well, it’s much more difficult to communicate this side. There’s just so much baggage on his end, and he has absolutely no experience in negotiating this side of it outside of _no absolutely not_. The last time he’d even tried, he’d been halfway through eighteen and like all the others in those shady dungeons and parties he’d gone to, that man hadn’t cared about his wishes anyway.

Sometimes, he wants to use the Time Stone to find each and every one of them and make _them_ hurt instead.

The offer of taking it slow is appreciated, in any case, and Stephen nods, swallowing around the nerves in his throat. Tony grins at him for a second longer, his expression now steady and easy, and then he says, “Alright, so touching. You seemed to have no problem with service-based touching...” He trails off, eyes going distant for a flash of a moment, clearly focussing Extremis on some external signal, then continues, “yesterday afternoon and evening when it was directed on me, and even went bratty to do so. I’m guessing you want to bring that on the table?”

“Yes,” Stephen says, then admits honestly, “I thought I was going to die if I didn’t touch you.”

Tony giggles, actually _giggles_ , ears going a bit pink again. “That was nice,” he says, clearly throwing Stephen’s airy words from before right back at him. Stephen scowls without any true ire and is relieved when the nerves taper off, not quite gone but certainly dampening to something manageable. He opens his mouth to complain, but Tony goes on, “Cool, so service-based touching is game. Any limits?”

“Feet,” Stephen says instantly.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about dangly bits and orifices, idiot,” he drones, then winks at him before his dark eyes go distant again. Stephen’s distracted for a moment when the tablet between them catches his eyes, and he blinks as he watches text begin appearing in the box next to service-based genital actions, to the direct right of the previous one that simply says ‘Hard Limit’ so he can keep a record.

Stephen hears himself ask, “Is this how you did the first negotiation?”

Tony hums and says, “Yeah, pretty much – did it on a private server instead of something closed-circuit since I didn’t have anything on-hand, but yeah. Makes everything faster, and I can get it all fresh without having to either remember everything personally, record a file to listen back, or pause to manually write something on paper. Extremis is awesome, even outside of the fact that I’d be six-feet under without it.”

“It’s remarkable,” Stephen breathes. “Photographic memory aside, that would’ve been monumentally beneficial during med school.”

“It’s only coded to my genetic DNA so don’t get any ideas,” Tony mock-warns him with another grin.

“I’m no longer in med school and I have magic now, so I don’t need your fancy nanite virus,” Stephen volleys back.

“Magic? Gross,” Tony says predictably, but he glances at Stephen quickly, grinning playfully. Then he immediately sobers up and gets back on track before they can get into the usual pseudo-argument about science versus magic, a conversation that has eaten up hours of their time when they’re not busy. “Any other limits right off the bat? I’m going to bring this up again in a little bit with another item on the board, but anything right now?”

“No,” Stephen says, though he’s curious as to what Tony’s thinking. He supposes he’ll find out soon enough, so best to be patient.

“Got it,” Tony says. “Service-based touching for me is jotted down, so what about the inverse?”

Stephen frowns. “I’m not entirely sure how you could do something like that to me during play, but I’m certainly fine with it.”

Tony’s mouth stretches into a smirk that looks decidedly mischievous and drawls, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” Okay, so now Stephen’s _really_ curious, but he doesn’t even have the opportunity to open his mouth to ask any questions because Tony moves on. “Alright, so service-based is covered, so let’s move onto sexual-based, and we’ll start with handjobs.”

“I want to touch you,” Stephen says immediately, his half-forgotten prick twitching wetly against his thigh.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Tony drawls with laughter in his voice, though he does an admirable job in attempting to keep a straight face. “Let’s start with you, mostly because it’ll go faster: obviously I’ve jerked you off a couple of times now and we’ve already covered fingering during the baseline, so I suppose we should formalise that. You’re good wi—”

“Obviously,” Stephen interrupts impatiently, because Tony’s right in saying that it’s just a formality at this point.

Tony huffs, clearly amused, but he obligingly fills out that box without moving and then says slowly, “Alright, so I’m going to need clarification in detail on handjobs for me, since it was a hard limit before, and contrary to popular belief handjobs can be incredibly varied in result when it comes to play. First off, to orgasm or not?”

Stephen can’t for the life of him say _yes_ out loud, swallowing thickly and unable to keep himself from shifting a bit as the vague knowledge of his prick being somewhat interested in the conversation becomes something that he can’t ignore in the slightest, stiffening even further with each second that goes by. He feels a bit lightheaded, both from the arousal and the abrupt pooling of blood in his groin, and he can hear his breath getting more laboured, though he doesn’t bother to attempt to hide it because he _wants_ Tony to know that this gets him hard.

Tony’s eyes go sharp almost instantly, inhaling slowly through his nose, and they’re so close that Stephen actually watches as his pupils bleed out into amber brown, dark and beautiful. It’s fascinating and ridiculously arousing, making Stephen’s throat lock around a moan that wants to break free, and he forces himself to look away so he can think clearly. In a croak, he manages to answer, “Both. Whatever you want.”

Tony’s quiet for a few moments, his gaze so heavy that Stephen can almost feel it, and then Tony asks evenly, “Any limits? Like, do you want it to be perfunctory in the sense that it’s a service, or can I play around with it?”

Stephen swallows again, saliva pooling in his mouth, and rasps, “Play around? Like what?”

When Tony speaks next, it’s deep and almost ragged: “You know, have you on your knees while I work so you can keep me nice and hard with your hand, order you to pleasure me while I hurt you until I’m coming all over your pretty face and you’re begging me to let you come too, things like that.”

 _Oh God_ , Stephen thinks deliriously, and has to clench his fists to keep himself from reaching for his erection. To his distant surprise, he feels himself dip, just skimming the surface of submission, and he vaguely wonders if this was Tony’s intention, though that doesn’t seem right – this is a different type of negotiation, with no need to bring Stephen down to get what he wants to know without a fight because Stephen had admitted that he’d already come to a decision when he was clear-headed. There’s no reason for it in a practical sense, but he can’t deny that it’s both intoxicating to let himself sink just under the surface and helpful when it comes to communicating what he wants. There are no real nerves now, just arousal and a simmering need, and that makes it easier to divulge what he wants to say out loud. Besides, going down isn’t going to change the outcome because of the enforced separation after this is over, since they’ll both still have time to think on it independently before the official changes are made.

“Yes,” Stephen whispers, barely audible even to his own ears.

Another beat of quiet, just the sounds of their mutually laboured breathing, and Tony says quietly, “Okay, I can do that to you, Stephen.”

Stephen shivers, eyes fluttering closed and going boneless against the headboard.

Tony’s voice is low and rough as he continues on, “So that’s noted. Let’s move onto oral then, specifically on you first. I know you’re not into being pleasured for the sake of being pleasured, which I figure is tied into me giving you a handjob too. You need pain or D&H for it to be satisfying, which I am more than happy to give you, so I’m guessing that it’s the same for rimming and blowjobs too – as long as I’m hurting, controlling, or demeaning you, you want to experiment with it, yes?”

Stephen can’t stop himself from groaning in the back of his throat, fingernails digging into his palms, but chokes out, “Yes, all of that.”

“Okay,” Tony says again, and Stephen hears movement and then a light thud. His foggy, aroused brain absently registers it as Tony moving the tablet to the other side of the bed, certainly not needed for this conversation considering he’s filling in all the boxes mentally with Extremis, and then Tony asks, “You’re going down, aren’t you?”

“Skimming,” Stephen admits weakly, then adds, “but mostly just ridiculously turned on.”

It’s exceedingly difficult to not allow his brain to start thinking of Tony as _Anthony_ but he manages, the concentration helping to keep him from going too far down instead of gladly falling into the headspace. Not that he would mind, but he’s content with just skimming the surface for the time being, mostly because he doesn’t trust himself to just start begging for Tony to do all of these things to him _right now_ when they haven’t even finished this negotiation yet. He needs to finish this before he goes nose-diving into an inarticulate mess, desperate for Tony all over him, _inside_ him.

“Try to keep your head as much as possible,” Tony says, his voice hoarse as he takes the thoughts right out of Stephen’s head. “I want to finish this with as much coherency as possible because they’re prior limits, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Stephen whispers.

“Good,” Tony murmurs, and Stephen wants to fucking _pounce_.

Even though his voice is raw with audible arousal himself, Tony starts talking again, clearly trying to get through everything as quickly but thoroughly as possible. “Oral on me, then. Same question applies: perfunctory service or can I play?”

“All of it,” Stephen says, almost a whine, and all he can think about is being on his knees while Tony ( _Anthony_ ) works on his machines or holograms, Stephen warming his prick with his sloppy mouth like the depraved cockslut he is until fingers are threading through his hair, forcing him to gag and choke on An—Tony’s length, nothing but a tight hole to fuck.

A glimmer of awareness flickers through that intoxicating, distracting thought, and it’s mercifully more than distracting enough that he feels his head steady itself, though he’s still hard as all hell and aching from it. His clenched fists relax, leaving them to throb in the aftermath as he tacks on, “I want all of that, but I’m not comfortable with swallowing. I’ve never liked it, even during casual sex. That being said, I’m not averse in the slightest to swallowing or tasting precome, or to the actual semen being on my face or skin; I just don’t want semen in my mouth. The texture is...unappealing, and I’m liable to vomit.”

“You mentioned that during the initial negotiation actually, so I’m still tracking that as a limit, though thanks for the confirmation considering we’re talking about oral now,” Tony says easily. He pauses for a moment, perhaps hesitating or mentally updating the spreadsheet, and finally asks, “What about the inverse? You know, like me swallowing yours? I mean, I’m not going to lie – I’m more liable to spit it on you and smear it on your skin or something, but I _definitely_ don’t have a problem with the texture or taste. Still, since we’re both clean unless you’ve gone and had unprotected sex in the past four months and didn’t tell me, I’m just as likely to swallow it too, depending on the mood of the scene.”

Stephen could so easily get distracted by Tony’s question ( _and oh that’s delicious to think about_ ) but he forces himself to focus on the latter. He drones out tiredly, “Of course not. That would require time off and a social life that doesn’t involve aliens, Asgardians, supervillains, or various other interdimensional threats trying to kill me or destroy reality.”

“That’s a big mood,” Tony says with a laugh. Stephen doesn’t know what that means exactly but he understands the gist of it, and he feels a bright flare of elation because Tony’s not seeing anyone and there’s a chance, isn’t there? He wants to open his mouth and ask if there’s anyone he has his eye on – even though he knows this is _not_ the time to inquire – but Tony diverts back to the original question as he says, “But anyway, any problems with that? And none of that reciprocation bullshit – I like it, so I’m more than happy to do it but like I said, I am more likely to spit it back on you or something. What can I say, it’s a lot of fun marking someone. I’ve also heard it’s good for the skin.”

The shit-eating grin on Tony’s face that pops up at that last bit just shows that he’s fucking with Stephen, probably to distract him from his obvious arousal and keep him from going down any further (not that Stephen feels like he’s skimming anymore, now that they’re talking about semen). Still, Stephen can’t help himself and complains, “That’s an urban legend and is a brilliant way to contract STIs if you’re not tested beforehand or break out in hives if you’re allergic to something they’ve eaten.”

Tony sniggers, eyes bright with amusement and smile stretched wide on that lovely face, and half of Stephen wants to kiss him while the other half wants to shove him off the bed entirely. “You must be fun at parties,” Tony teases, nudging him with his shoulder playfully. His warm, bare skin against Stephen’s is distracting but there’s certainly no intent behind it, and if anything it’s soothing, the idea that they can just be like this – half-naked, or in Stephen’s case completely naked, curled up in bed after a wild night of extreme, kinky not-quite-sex and be playful and comfortable despite an intense conversation – without there being any intent behind it.

That being said, Stephen honestly does want to finish this conversation, especially since they only have one thing left to really discuss, so he says, “How I am at parties is completely beside the point, and I’m not skimming anymore so you can stop trying to distract me by horrible, atrocious medical rumours based on zero facts unless you want to hear me rage about influencers for about twelve years.”

“Well, I think I’ll probably be murdered by one of the many women who control my life if I avoid work or Avengers’ business for twelve years, so I suppose we should get on track. Besides, I need a shower and, like, a dozen eggs with about five pounds of potatoes and a few pots of coffee for pizzazz. Maybe a bagel too, with that weird raspberry jalapeño shit that Bruce gets delivered in bulk from Colorado or something.”

Stephen blinks and says slowly, “You eat like a bird, so there’s no way you’d be able to finish even a fourth of that.”

“You don’t know my life,” Tony grumbles, but he’s smiling. It tapers off rather quickly though, his expression going deathly serious, and he says carefully, “You want to negotiate that too?”

“Yes,” Stephen replies simply.

Tony takes a deep breath and exhales noisily, then turns the tablet to his left back on with a thought and says, “Alright then. Let’s do it, and then I’ll make you breakfast, cool?”

“Yes,” Stephen says again, anticipation curling in his stomach. His prick, which had somewhat softened into a sticky mess against the sheets, is already stiffening back up to full hardness, twitching against his wet thigh in eagerness. He doesn’t bother to mentally tell it to behave because it feels good, not to mention that it’d be pointless anyway.

Another deep breath, Tony’s eyes a bit glazed as he focusses on the words in the spreadsheet, reading through the applicable portions in his head. Stephen’s own eyes watch as the spreadsheet scrolls back and forth without being touched, and he can’t read it from this distance but it’s still fascinating to watch Tony seamlessly manipulate technology without having to look at it, seeing the screen in his head.

“Right,” Tony finally says, dark eyes refocussing on Stephen as he shifts a bit. “Let’s start with me, yeah?”

Stephen feels a sharp burst of vivid surprise and he says in a small voice, “ _Oh_.”

Tony squints at him, dark eyes darting around Stephen’s face, and then his expression morphs to pure outrage. Stephen doesn’t even have the opportunity to get nervous or anxious that _he’s_ the reason for the anger because Tony says in a very, _very_ deliberately calm tone, “So fuck literally every asshole you’ve ever played with, I swear to God. If you have names, or better yet social security numbers, I will _destroy them_.”

Then he sighs, the anger bleeding out of him almost as fast as it had bloomed, and he huffs a bit sheepishly. “Sorry. I know it’s a chronic misconception that submissives always have to take it, which makes absolutely no sense and pisses me off to no end. Look, I like getting fucked just as much as the next secure man who isn’t terrified of ‘looking like a homo’, and Dominating from the bottom is a lot of fun. Lots of shit you can do with that sort of thing, even more than just doing the fucking actually, so it opens up a lot of interesting options instead of just sticking your dick in all the time and rehashing all the same clichés. So if you’re amendable to the idea of anal in general, I’d like to open up the discussion about equal opportunity fucking for all. If it’s not something that you’re interested in, then that’s totally okay and I will be happy to table that indefinitely because I don’t need it, but if you _are_ interested, I would like to discuss it.”

Honestly, the idea of being able to have Tony in that way hadn’t even crossed Stephen’s mind. He knows first-hand that switching is by far the most common in the queer community – and is obviously common with straight men that are into anal for themselves – and he supposes that in abstract it makes sense that such a mentality would translate in some ways to the scene regardless of roles, but he’s never been with a Dom that hadn’t wanted to essentially use Stephen’s body as something to masturbate with after torturing. The idea of Tony letting Stephen slip inside of his body, carefully controlling every action and the environment around them both with his clever and creative Domination, is just... _fucking hell_ , it’s just fucking _intoxicating_.

“You would...let me do that?” he asks, even though Tony had just said he wanted it, but he needs to hear it again, in plain English without any way to possibly misconstrue it.

As if he’d read Stephen’s mind, Tony smiles and says simply, “Absolutely.”

Stephen gets fully hard so fast that his vision tunnels, feeling lightheaded and shivery, and he croaks, “Oh my God.”

Tony grins, dark eyes shining with mischievous heat. “Yeah, I’d really like to play around with it. Are you okay with adding that to—”

“Yes,” Stephen breathes, then flushes when Tony laughs, a low and languid sound that swirls in Stephen’s gut until it spreads out in a rush of warmth.

“Okay then,” Tony replies, and as his eyes go a bit distant as he updates the list, he adds, “I think it’d be more SSC anyway, considering your history, and I really do enjoy it. Like I said, there’s a lot more that switching brings to the table, pun somewhat intended, so it does keep things varied. Still, if we do make any of this official, we’ll ease into it just like we’re easing into everything else on your list because it’s not like I’m going to do every single thing we talk about at once from the get-go, and obviously you can safeword at any time when we’re playing.”

“Of course,” Stephen says weakly, and this is just...so overwhelming and arousing, and he is physically incapable of _not_ shoving the heel of his hand hard on his hidden prick to stave of the urge to come just from that, though the pain that results only sparks more pleasure in a vicious cycle. He takes in a few deep, desperate breaths through his nose, eyes clenching shut in an effort to control his damn libido, and for fuck’s sake, but he hasn’t even really touched himself except this brutal press against his erection and he’s dangerously close to popping regardless, just from this conversation alone, just from the idea that Tony would restrain him before spreading his legs, teasing him and making him beg for more, going slow as he makes Stephen take him, powerful and strong with a hand around his neck to leverage himself up and down until he’s shooting spunk all over Stephen’s gasping, shaking body.

“Well, that’s...promising,” Tony pipes up, his voice shaky but thick.

“Give me a second,” Stephen rasps, trying his damndest to pull himself together even though it’s nearly impossible to do so. Every atom in his body wants to pull at his prick until he’s spilling all over himself and the bedding covering his body, wants to throw off the covers and give Tony a show even, and it’s even more heady to know that Tony’s hard too, even if he can’t see it. He can hear the arousal in Tony’s voice, can hear it in the slightly laboured breathing between them. He wants to get himself off, but he also wants to pull Tony on top of him, wants to either spread his legs or watch as Tony spreads _his_ , wants—

He manages to control himself by a hair, the feverish lust dampened just enough for his brain to process something besides the arousal, but he knows that it’s not going to hold long – they haven’t even gotten to _Stephen_ getting fucked yet and God, but he feels like he’s going to shake out of his skin. Sweat is dotting his hairline and the small of his back, his body overheated with desire and the sheer effort to keep himself from wrapping his fingers around himself ( _or Tony_ ), but he exhales in a long, unsteady rush of air and finally says, “Alright, Tony.”

“You up or down?” Tony asks, and both of them let out a simultaneous, strained bark of a laugh at the unintentional innuendo. Tony clarifies immediately, “I mean, are you skimming?”

“No, not anymore, though it’d be easy to let myself,” Stephen replies honestly, and it really would be. Just the fantasies of what they could do during play with these topics is delicious and strong, and he’s already fairly hot with arousal even outside of that.

Tony clears his throat and advises again, “Try to stay up—er, stay coherent, if you can.”

Stephen feels a twinge of self-directed frustration because he should be able to do that since he’s clear-headed and an old hat at keeping the need in check when he’s sane; still, it’s exceptionally difficult to do so because he trusts Tony so fucking much and feels _safe_ when he goes down with him. There’s not a single iota of his psyche that is reluctant or unwilling to just slip down into the mindspace with Tony, a strange and alien concept after so long fighting it with any Dom, and dear _fuck_ but he loves him, loves him so much it’s physically painful to keep the sentiment from slipping past his lips and tongue and teeth.

“I will,” he says, vowing to himself that he will follow the request. He’s stronger than this and no matter how much he loves and trusts Tony, he wants to tackle the last topic with lucidity just as much as Tony wants him to. However, he does admit, “Not going to be able to do much about the...other bit.”

Tony huffs out a laugh and says wryly, “Not exactly a bad thing, and it’s not like I’m in the same boat.”

Well that’s validating, and Stephen feels a rush of warm pleasure at the easy admission, even if he’d known already that Tony was affected despite his obvious attempt to keep himself physically calm and unruffled. “Charming,” he says as evenly as he can, eyes opening and adjusting to the light again before he turns back to face Tony directly. He catches the tail-end of Tony smoothing out his expression quickly, barely able to register the naked desire on his face before it’s carefully unmoved and easy again, albeit slightly negated by the flush on his face and the dark, hungry glint in his eyes.

 _Fuck_ , but he’s beautiful.

“I try,” Tony quips dryly, tone remarkably even, and then he inhales deeply before he gets right back to it, sentences intentionally clinical in a blatant attempt to separate the arousing content with the conversation itself: “Judging by the physical reaction and the surprise you displayed, I’m assuming you’re amendable to receiving anal. Same question applies for limits.”

“All of it,” Stephen affirms, then swallows the mouthful of saliva at the heady idea of being fucked as a simple, undeserving object as well as being used as a warm hole to stuff a prick into whilst Tony’s busy with other things, not to mention all of the other ideas he knows Tony’s got in mind. He digs the heel of his hand into his prick even harder, heart thudding heavily in his chest at the flare of discomfort and pain as well as the arousal that results, and tries not to grind his palm against his hidden prick for friction lest he come all over himself in half a second flat.

“Definitely doable,” Tony says, blinking rapidly as the spreadsheet at his side scrolls and fills with text, though his heavy, half-lidded gaze doesn’t leave Stephen. “Let’s talk protection for both of us then. I always have condoms on-hand, obviously, and even though you’ve mentioned that you don’t mind precome and enjoy being marked, anal is a different beast altogether.”

“I don’t mind the mess,” Stephen rasps, vision going grey at the thought of Tony’s spunk dripping down his thighs.

“I don’t mind the mess either, but you know it’s not that simple, especially as someone from the medical field,” Tony points out calmly. “I can work in douching and enemas for you when we play, which you were game for during the initial negotiation, and I can take a break or even have you service me if I decide to take you, but there will be times where I will insist on condoms, either because I want the separation for a particular idea I have during a scene or because we don’t have the time to douche and wait the two hours or so for everything to internally stabilise. Also, you know just as well as I do that frequent douching is dangerous for the human body, so if for some reason we get into a regular groove and we’re playing more often than once a month, we’ll definitely have to use condoms the vast majority of the time even if we’re alternating who’s taking just to mitigate those risks. Anyway, I know some people don’t like condoms, especially if they’re clean and playing with someone they trust, but I just want to make sure that you’re okay with that because we can work around condoms if you’d prefer not to use them.”

“I’m fine with condoms when you want them,” Stephen says.

“Good,” Tony says with a crooked smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “At least there are polyisoprene condoms now – the polyurethane ones were utter garbage, breaking if you so much as breathed wrong, let alone decided to fuck into someone faster than a snail’s crawl. Almost ended up making my own material because I hated them so much and couldn’t use latex, but I always got distracted with other things before I could get around to it. Suppose it’s moot point now though, considering Extremis eliminated my allergies. Anyway, I think that’s that, because neither one of us is really into ass-to-mouth play on either side without a thorough wash, which mitigates that whole kink entirely. Is there anything else you want to bring up before we break for food? Need to get you more fluids too, even though we didn’t go hard enough last night to really require a splurge of Gatorade.”

 _Can I take you out for a coffee, or maybe even dinner?_ he thinks, but he swallows the words down and says instead, “When do you want to meet up to re-evaluate?”

Tony chews on his lip for a second and then replies, “Well, we’ve got the memorial in, what, four or five weeks? Sometime after that would be good, save any world-ending events that pop up or you edging. I won’t have any sort of continuation of this if you’re not in a good headspace.”

“We can touch base the week after the memorial if nothing comes up,” Stephen agrees. There’s a brief moment of silence, almost awkward and tense, and then Stephen says flatly, “And I’m not going to change my mind, you know. I want this.”

Tony stares him down, eyes intense and almost penetrating, and then says, “I’ve enjoyed what we’ve done so far, and I’ll enjoy anything we do in the future, regardless of whether or not bits go into some orifice or another. If you change your mind—”

“I won’t,” Stephen states.

“—it’s not a big deal, okay? I’m just really fucking happy to be doing this because it helps me just as much as it helps you,” Tony finishes, then rolls his eyes as Stephen’s interjection registers. “Okay, that’s not fair,” Tony argues, though he seems to be arguing for arguing’s sake rather than any true anger. “You’re allowed to change your mind.”

“I know that, just like I know that I’m allowed to safeword _when_ we’re playing under this new agreement,” Stephen volleys back, heavily emphasising the inevitability of making this whole talk official. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I’m sure.” Then, half because it’s true and half because he loves Tony’s reaction to the words, he says earnestly, “I trust you with this.”

Tony’s face goes tight, entire body spasming, and his eyes clench shut as he takes a few deep, steadying breaths. Tightly, he admonishes, “That’s playing dirty.”

“It’s true,” Stephen whispers.

Tony laughs, a rough and choked sound, and then opens his eyes again, a blindingly bright smile stretching his lips until his entire face is glowing from the force of it. It knocks the breath clean out of Stephen in a rush, heart thudding rapidly behind his ribs, and his entire body floods with pleasure. _A reward indeed_ , he thinks to himself, and feels his face crease into a shaky, almost dazed smile in return.

“Thank you,” Tony breathes, bright eyes brimming with emotion.

They smile at each other, close enough to touch yet so far away, but eventually Tony’s smile tapers into something easy and comfortable. “So how about a shower, then breakfast, and then a cuddle on the couch so we can binge watch _House M.D._ and I can laugh at you while you berate the television?”

God, he loves this man.

“Alright Tony,” Stephen says, then shivers when Tony brushes his fingers through Stephen’s wild hair playfully and then hops up, the groin of his joggers damp with precome and his ( _gorgeous_ ) hidden prick a rigid shape behind fabric.

As he climbs out of Stephen’s bed – and oh Stephen doesn’t want him to leave but he is too afraid of possibly ruining everything they have to open his mouth – Tony says, “See you in an hour or so? I’ll be in my rooms cleaning up, but if you need me because you feel like you’re dropping, just barge in, okay? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked or in the shower after all.”

“I feel good,” Stephen assures him, though he understands the sentiment and appreciates the offer. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Tony says, walking backwards towards the exit so he can continue looking at Stephen.

The second the door shuts, leaving Stephen utterly alone without even FRIDAY’s all-seeing eye on him, Stephen’s kicking off the blankets and sheets, his shaking hand frantically reaching for his prick. There is no finesse or build-up, just a frantic need to get off _now_ , already so close that he can taste it, and he pulls at his erection roughly, palm damp with precome. He loses himself in flitting fantasy after flitting fantasy, of Tony fucking his mouth so hard he can’t breathe and Tony teasing Stephen’s erection with his tongue, of Tony squeezing his hands around Stephen’s bound wrists as he grinds his prick against Stephen’s, of Tony putting him in tight shibari and keeping him utterly immobile while he slowly fucks himself on Stephen’s prick and rasps degrading filth about how Stephen’s nothing but a body to use for his pleasure, of Tony chaining him to a breeding post and fucking him so hard in between sharp hits with a crop or his hands that Stephen’s entire body is bruised and aching from the force of it.

Stephen arches against the bed, his prick and balls throbbing as thick come pulses out of his slit, and he hears himself sob out desperately, “ _Tony_.”

He allows himself to luxuriate in the aftermath for a few minutes, light-headed and buzzing with residual endorphins, and then forces himself to get out of bed so he can clean himself up, looking forward to a lazy recovery day with the man he loves.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the fic that comes after this one is pretty much done, outside of the usual porn and the normal beta'ing process, so the wait shouldn't be too long. Here's to hoping that Moki doesn't throw something at my head for _that_ pile of garbage lmao.
> 
> I do hope you enjoyed this and thank you very much for reading!
> 
> [tumblr post](https://meshkol-creations.tumblr.com/post/637171980001525760/a-lesson-in-trust-meshkol-ashernorton)


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